


blush of a rose

by gazing



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Character Study, Courtship, Eventual Smut, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, Music, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Romance, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:27:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 98,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gazing/pseuds/gazing
Summary: Mildred Ratched, a governess in 1890s England, gets herself into trouble when she begins sneaking out of Hanover manor to go to the town's music hall.(Not, it should be asserted, to see the cross dressing performer Gwen. Certainly not).
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 204
Kudos: 503





	1. the first rose

**Author's Note:**

> I CAN'T GET THIS AU OUT OF MY HEAD OH MY GOSH
> 
> (sorry for any historical innaccuracies, says the history student).

The first thing Mildred notices as she ducks inside of the music hall is the _noise_.

There are rough male voices in her ears as she pushes through the warm crowd of people to try and find her seat. The tilted hat on her forehead hides her face as she scrambles through, her hands holding up her skirts and keeping the hem away from the floor. Though it's hot and loud inside the hall there's an excitement about the atmosphere, an anticipation in the air that rubs off on Mildred as she gets lost in the darkness. Warm lamps light up the place, casting it in a dim glow, and Mildred takes it all in. Savours the freedom she feels as she finally finds a seat to fall into.

For a moment, Mildred just looks around. She hasn't been in one of these in _years_ and she feels oddly out of place, although she usually feels that way in most situations. The man beside her is smoking a cigar, and the familiar musk of smoke comforts her - more than once she's longed for the taste of tobacco again, and she breathes the husk in, lets her eyes flutter shut. She can hear women chatting with excited voices behind her, can feel her skirts bunched up around her knees as she sits stiffly, but there is a strange feeling of disconnect as she waits for the beautiful red curtains to open. Often, she feels as if she's experiencing life through a mirror - she can _see_ everything, can _feel_ it vividly, and yet it's only a reflection of the world.

"What's someone like you doin' in a place like this?" The man next to her asks.

She's asked herself the same question, had been asking it ever since she got into the carriage at the manor and walked into the music hall. Mildred supposes that lately she's been feeling this sort of boredom, this _fatigue_ with her routine. Rise early, talk with the children at breakfast, teach them during the day, read before bed, and then sleep. On good days she goes for a walk and is free amongst the trees, her face no longer pulled into that polite, patient smile that is so often painted there. But there are not many good days.

Here, in this dark music hall, Mildred is so far from the immaculate image of _governess_ that has defined the last decade of her life. It's a strange feeling, as if layers of her are being pulled away to reveal some sort of truth underneath. She just doesn't know what that truth _is._

Mildred doesn't reply to the stranger, her jaw tightening as he continues to stare at the side of her face. She occupies herself with gazing out into the crowd. From her view she can see the stage well - if she's honest, she'd gotten lucky with the seat that she found. There are couples around her, leaning on each other's shoulders. Some of their hands touching just slightly on top of seats and hidden by coats and skirts to preserve their virtue. There are older men, lounging on the walls with mugs of beer, rubbing their beards as they laugh. Mildred is the only one like her there. There are quite a few other women, most with a man and not many alone. Perhaps they are blending in amongst the crowd like her. But it is not a lonely feeling. Despite the fact she stands out, Mildred feels... anonymous. A shadow amongst all of the people. 

Salvatore, the manor's henchman, had told her she could have an hour when he'd stopped the carriage in town. She trusts him, the way she trusts no one else in that damned place. Head housekeeper Besty Bucket would sell her out in an instant, in a desperate attempt to gain Doctor Hanover's favour. Louise, their _dreadful_ cook, would blackmail her just for the fun of it. But Salvatore, bless him, is an honest man - a little scarred, a little jaded, but at least he's genuine. Mildred doesn't know many people who are honest, herself included.

Yes, an hour is all she has. Mildred hopes it'll be worth it.

"Did you hear?" One of the women whispers to another behind her. Her voice is pretty, and Mildred glances behind her, is caught in the way the woman's hair shines under the low lights. " _Gwen_ is back."

"Yes, that _is_ why I'm here, Mary. Do keep up." The other asks. "How long is she here for this time?

"I'm unsure. But I cannot wait to see her again." A wicked smile rises in the woman's cheeks, and she glances at Mildred. Mildred turns her head back to the front of the room quickly. "The last time we met... it was a few winters ago, do you remember? Let's just say, that evening, I was perfectly satisfied."

"Be quiet." The other laughs, and Mildred tries to keep up, her mind stuck on _satisfied,_ whatever that was supposed to me. "You'll give us away."

"I have no shame, Vic."

"Yes, well, me neither. I cannot say the same about the rest of England, though."

Mildred drifts out of the conversation, confused, and focuses on the curtains. As if sensing her, they are pulled open, and the showrunner steps out onto the stage and begins to shout into the crowd.

The show begins.

Mildred sits back in her seat and watches the performances with hooded eyes. There is music, of course, loud and fun and _riveting,_ and Mildred's foot begans to tap to the beat instinctively. There are performers - a man with half of his face mutiliated, emiting _oohs_ and _aahs_ from the crowd. There's a performer who does brilliant impersonations, and Mildred finds herself laughing more than once. After a few performances or so she pulls the small watch from her coat and finds it's been almost two hours. Somewhere along the way, the routine so imbedded into her had softened, and she'd forgotten herself for longer than she meant to.

She goes to rise from her seat and pull on her coat, but the woman from behind her, _Mary,_ places a warm hand on her arm. Mildred feels the heat through her long sleeves and glances at her shyly.

"Leaving already?" The woman asks, "At least stay for the last performance. Gwen is... Well, let's just say you'll want to see it."

Mildred pauses, her cheeks turning pink.

"But I-"

"Oh, come on, now." The other woman, Vic, raises an eyebrow. "You don't want to miss this, love, I promise you."

So Mildred sits, stiff again, her coat lain across her lap. When the showrunner steps out again, she blinks and leans forward in her seat, anticipating whoever this _Gwen_ was. Certainly she was not so entertaining as to wait another half hour, Mildred thinks, predicting she'll probably regret staying longer.

"And finally, the moment you've all been waiting for." The man holds out his hands and grins, "All of the way from the United States, and for your pleasure, the magnificent Gwen!"

The crowd erupts with noise, and anticipation rises inside of Mildred. The curtains close again, and then they are thrown open... and Mildred's world collapses. As if struck by a lightning bolt, the pumping of blood in her ears feels electric, roaring like the crowd.

There's a woman strutting across the stage, but she's unlike any woman Mildred has ever seen. Her suit is tight around her trousers and chest, her bow tie resting just below her neck. She has a sharp, but lovely face, a sparkle in her eyes that Mildred feels drawn to - thinks she could fall into, in fact. There's a glimpse of blonde hair under her top hat. But it's not the clothes that make her different, no, it's her _energy,_ confident and strong and loud. Mildred swallows and doesn't quite understand the way her ears have begun to burn.

The woman sings, and it's not the quality of singing that makes her performance so brilliant, it's the _way_ she sings, the way she dances, the way she _exists_. Gwen twirls her walking stick around her, lounges against the piano and smiles cheekily at the woman playing it, meets eyes in the crowd with this air of boldness that's just so _exhilarating._

"I told you." Mary murmurs in her ear. Mildred doesn't hear it.

She finds herself smiling, too, when she realises Gwen is _funny_. Not in a staged way - it's a natural sort of comedy, a humour which matches Mildred's own sharpness, a sarcasm that's kind of ruthless, in the best sort of way. The music hall has faded away into just the two of them. It's strange, Mildred thinks. What is this feeling? She's read more poetry than most, and yet she cannot recall a line that describes this moment, cannot think of a word to explain how it feels. Only _feels_ it, and tries to breathe.

Mildred has seen cross dressing performers a few times before. She knows of the final song, and she finds herself almost... disappointed when she realises Gwen's performance is coming to a close. Gwen croons into the audience, singing of a far away lover, and Mildred is caught in it, in those glorious minutes where the only thing she can focus on is Gwen, and nothing else.

Then the music fades, and Gwen pulls a rose from inside of her suit. Mildred has seen this sort of thing before, too, but a reckless hope that _she_ is the one who receives the rose rises in her against her will.

"For the loveliest lady in the room." Gwen says. She scans the crowd, her eyes flickering over the crowd. "Well, well. This will be a difficult choice." 

Mildred's eyes flicker away, to the folded curtains - she's not prepared to meet Gwen's eyes, she doesn't know how she would cope with it. But she _feels_ it when Gwen's eyes land on her. They burn into her, and Mildred can't help herself. She turns her head, and their eyes meet, and something flutters in Mildred's stomach. It's a feeling she doesn't understand, a nervous warmth that consumes her. _Oh,_ Mildred thinks.

"Found you." Gwen says. Her eyes sparkle as she smiles for a moment, and Mildred's lips twitch as she tries not to smile back. Then Gwen reaches back and throws the rose right at Mildred. "For you, darling."

Mildred catches it, her hands trembling. It smells fresh, like a garden, and like... like perfume. 

"Keep it safe." Gwen winks, and turns back to the crowd. She must be saying her goodbyes, but Mildred doesn't hear it. She runs a finger over a scarlet rose petal, and when the curtains finally close, she misses the fact that Gwen looks for her one last time before disappearing backstage.

The crowds are loud, bustling with laughter and song, the smell of beer and smoke heavy in the room. Mildred pulls on her coat and tucks the rose inside of it, feeling the flower burn against her chest.

"What's your name?" Mary asks, before they leave.

"Ratched." Mildred bows. "Mildred Ratched."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mildred." Mary smiles, "Fancy a nightcap?"

Mildred pauses as she looks at the two women. She has the reckless desire to say _yes,_ but she swallows it and shakes her head quickly.

"I must be leaving. I have to be home." Mildred says, avoiding their eyes.

"Of course." Vic smiles, "Don't worry. She'll be back here to see Gwen next week. We'll see you then, love."

"What?" Mildred splutters.

Vic winks at her.

"Come on, Mary." Vic places a gentle hand on the other woman's shoulder, and Mildred's eyes linger on that point of contact. "I'm getting sick of the smell of tobacco."

"Yes, dear." Mary says, and they disappear into the crowd.

Mildred stares after them. She places her hand over the rose in her coat before shaking her head and stepping back into the crowd too. She isn't looking forward to explaining herself to Salvatore, but for the life of her, Mildred can't find it in herself to regret anything.

*

Gwendolyn pulls off her top hat and throws her suit jacket over a chair.

She collapses into the chair, holding a cigar to her mouth and breathing it in deeply. The changing rooms are dark, murmurs and smoke in the air, and Gwendolyn closes her eyes. Savours the burn in her throat. As she relaxes into the chair a flash of dark eyes and a serious face appears in front of her eyes. The woman in the crowd had been so... haunting, Gwendolyn thinks, and she's unable to shake the women's face from her mind.

It's been a long time since her heart has raced, like that.

"You did well out there." Huck says warmly, coming to sit beside her. He's a sweetheart, Gwendolyn thinks fondly. She opens her eyes to smile at him.

"You too... Huck, isn't it?" She says, and pats his leg. "Heading home soon?"

"Yeah. You?"

"I think I'll stay here a little longer." Gwendolyn sighs, breathing out smoke. Huck tilts his head.

"Are you alright?"

"Hm?"

"You seem distracted."

"Oh." Gwendolyn laughs, and taps a shoe against the floor. "Have you ever seen someone, and think you've met them before, in another lifetime? As if... as if the moment your eyes meet, a thousand years of history pass between you. _Oh,_ you think, in wonder, _I was meant to meet you._ "

"I can't say I have, Miss Briggs."

"Huh." Gwendolyn tips her head back. Follows the cracks in the ceiling with her eyes. Her blonde hair has come free slightly from the net keeping it in place, and a few strands hang over her neck. "I am hopeless, you know."

" _You're_ hopeless _?"_ Huck laughs, "Then what am I?"

"You're perfect." Gwendolyn says fondly, and bumps their shoulders together.

"I don't think so, but thank you."

"Nonsense. And enough with the _Miss Briggs._ " Gwendolyn says, "We're going to be working together for quite a while, Huck. Do be informal with me."

"Alright." Huck laughs, "How long are you planning on staying, anyway?"

"Well," The woman from the crowd flashes in front of Gwendolyn's eyes again. That dark hair, the way she'd sat so stiffly, the mystery of her, and that tiny smile that had almost risen on her face... oh, dear, Gwendolyn thinks. She's in _danger_. "I'm not quite sure. Perhaps... longer than expected."

"Oh? Has something come up?"

"I don't know." Gwendolyn blows out another circle of smoke and her eyes twinkle. Hopefully, she thinks. "We'll see."

*

Mildred slips quietly into the manor through the back door.

She locks it behind her, and the gentle _click_ sounds loud in the quiet night. The manor is cold at night, and Mildred shivers as she steps inside, thinking only of the soft warm bed waiting for her upstairs. She pads quietly through the kitchen, through the servant halls and towards her bedchamber. She navigates in the pitch black, her hands pressed against the walls. It's on the corridor of her room that a tight, slender hand grips her wrist.

"Well, well, well." The head housekeeper drawls. _Betsy Bucket._ She wears her dressing gown, her dark hair twisted into a ridiculous knot, and her lips are pursed. There's this delighted look in her eyes, lit up by the lamp she's holding to illuminate the darkness, and Mildred sighs inwardly. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Mildred takes off her hat and looks Betsy steadily in the eye.

"Is there something you need, Miss Bucket?"

"Yes, actually." Betsy's fingers tighten around her wrist, and Mildred's eyes narrow. She longs to pull her hand away - she's always hated it when people touch her, invading her space as if they belong there. "Where exactly have you been?"

"I went for a _walk._ " Mildred seethes. "That's allowed, is it not?"

"Dressed up like that?" Betsy's eyes are wicked. Lies come easily to her by now, but Betsy has never bought into them. "Are you quite sure, Ratched?"

"Don't make baseless accusations, and do _not_ touch me." Mildred pulls her wrist harshly from Betsy's grip. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed."

"I've got my eye on you, you know." Betsy calls after her. Mildred rolls her eyes and shuts her door quietly behind her.

She lights a lamp with a match and turns to her bedchamber. When Mildred pulls on her nightgown, it's soft against her skin, and she sighs and savours the peace and quiet of the room. She takes the rose from the pocket of her coat and places it gently in a glass filled with water.

"I don't have a fancy vase." Mildred smiles slightly, "So this will have to do, I'm afraid."

Mildred doesn't feel tired - in fact, she's _thrumming_ with energy and adrenaline, her heart still caught up in that damned music hall. Suit trousers and sparkling eyes flash behind her eyes, and Mildred shakes her head to rid of herself of the sudden image.

"Whatever is the matter with me?" She murmurs. 

She climbs under her bedsheets, and pulls a book from her beside table. She reads by the light of her burning lamp, and a line from the book catches her particular attention. Stuns her under the moonlight.

_"For a few seconds they looked silently into each other’s eyes, and the distant and impossible suddenly became near, possible, and inevitable."_

Mildred swallows and snaps the book shut. She does not, _definitely_ does not, think of the performer who had met her eyes from the stage. What I need, Mildred thinks, is sleep. Tomorrow there will be her regular routine, and it will be a respite from this... from this new, restless, excited feeling inside of her. She closes her eyes tightly, and prays that sleep will come to take her soon. That all memory of the rose will have faded in the morning, with all that's left her usual sensible nature.

But Mildred knows, in those hazy, distant moments before she falls asleep, that she will be returning to the music hall soon enough.


	2. a warm encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Salvatore," She murmurs, to the man standing by the front doors, "Would you mind driving me out to town?"  
> Salvatore pauses, considering her.
> 
> "Miss," He begins, "I don't know if I will be able to-"
> 
> "Please." Mildred says, morphing her expression into something pleading, that she knows will melt him. "I can offer excuses, if you are caught, I promise. I simply want to be drove there, and back."

The carriage rumbles towards town.

Mildred sits stiffly, with her back straight. She's always poised for action. Her hair is bound tightly by her own hands, and her face is sharp as the edge of a blade - _prim and proper,_ Headkeeper Betsy has always spat at her, and laughed. Mildred's skirts flow around her ankles, spread out on the chair. She watches the greenery pass by and fade as they ride further towards the city.

The children are playing a game, and the noise is grating on her nerves. At first she had simply glanced at them, almost fondly, as they yelled in the carriage. But after almost an hour there became an undeniable ache at the back of her head, and Mildred's jaw has tightened with the pain.

She dislikes the winter months, when it grows dark early, and the children refuse to concentrate. On weekends they are even _less_ bearable. Mildred is forced to take them to town on Saturday afternoons, and mass on Sunday mornings, and to keep them distracted and sensible while Hanover meets with his friends and colleagues in those grand weekend parties that he is so praised for.

Mildred closes her eyes, and breathes in. There is fresh air, and there is peace in it, in the trees and the grass. Whenever she feels this overwhelmed Mildred likes to sit in silence and just _breathe,_ but she does not have the luxury with the children laughing so close to her. So she simply tries to summon that peace instead, even as the carriage jolts when it drives over a pot hole.

"Miss Ratched," The girl giggles. She brushes her long blonde hair out of her eyes, her face twinkling with youthful mischief.

"Yes, Elizabeth?"

"I've told you a million times to call me _Liza._ "

Mildred sighs through her nose.

"What is it that you wish to ask?"

"Can we go to the tea shop today?" Mildred opens her mouth to say _no, we can't, you have a dress fitting,_ but Elizabeth interrupts her. She's young enough to feel like she can defy authority, and if Mildred were to admit it to herself, she would say she admires a trait like that. "Oh, _please,_ it's been so very long since we-"

"I agree." Her younger brother, Edward, pipes up. _Eddie,_ he says, _call me Eddie._ He's only imitating his sister's habit. Mildred had once thought it could be cute, if he did not insist on copying _everything_ she did.

"Of course you do." Mildred mutters under her breath. "We have this conversation every week, and you get the same answer. Don't you understand the meaning of _no?_ Have I not taught you it well enough."

Elizabeth mutters something, in that stubborn, rebellious way of hers, and Mildred almost wants to smile. When she was a child she, too, had this sort of anger within her, a habit for going against the grain. Many times she ran away from her boarding school, and the servants were out late at night searching for her in the dark grounds.

"Children," Mildred says, "Should be seen, and not heard."

Elizabeth rolls her eyes, Edward grinning all the while, and Mildred turns back to the trees. Fortunately, the carriage stops in town. The children stumble out of the carriage, and Mildred follows delicately.

"Here we are, Ma'am." Salvatore says warmly. He holds out his hand, and she takes it in her gloved one gingerly. Though uncomfortable, Mildred steps down from the carriage smoothly, not letting her discontent show on her face.

London is loud and bustling with people. She grabs the children by the back of their coats and looks out into the crowds. The market is in full swing, and Mildred watches the owners of stalls shout to customers, bargaining loudly. Carriages trundle over the roads, horseshoes tapping along the gravel. Mildred takes a breath, trying not to be overwhelmed by the sounds and smells of the city, and begins to walk.

The children are required at a party in the evening, and Mildred has been tasked with getting the girl's dress fitted - she had whined and whined that it was too small, and that they _must_ have it fitted properly before tonight. Mildred is unsure what the purpose of the party is, but it seems to be more of a social gathering than to do with Hanover's work. That's probably the reason Elizabeth is so excited for it - the opportunity to mingle amongst happy, dancing strangers will be novel for her.

It has begun to rain. Mildred feels traces of raindrops on her hair, but she's always prepared - she pulls out an, admittedly bland, umbrella, pulling the children underneath it.

Hanover has several mottos, and one of them is, _only the best._ Which is why Mildred is walking towards _a very_ expensive tailor's, the children's hands in her own to stop them from running to market stalls filled with candy.

The gravel becomes wet and slippy with rain. Edward's foot slips on the curb, and he falls onto the road.

"Oh, dear." Mildred sighs, reaching to pick him up. But he's already standing, and a woman in a deep red dress with a black, velvet like cloak, is brushing down the front of his coat with gloved hands.

"Are you quite alright?" She asks, a warmth in her voice that Mildred would fail to replicate.

Mildred looks at her, a confused furrow in her brow. Hasn't she heard that voice before? It's soft, melodic, subdued in the rain, but it sounds strangely familiar. The woman's face with its soft edges and slight wrinkles, seems awfully familiar, too. She has shorter hair, than Mildred is used to seeing in women, but its blonde and pretty. What is it about her that seems so delightful and familiar in the Saturday morning light?

Then she looks up, with dark eyes and a smile, and Mildred remembers. It's _Gwen._ She's wearing a dress, and not performing, but it's definitely her. Mildred's heart jumps, a panic washing over her like the rain. Gwen takes the arm of a well dressed man beside her, her eyes flickering over Mildred as she does so.

"Whatever is the matter?" Elizabeth is asking, tugging at Mildred's sleeve. Mildred swallows, her eyes never leaving the woman in front of her. The red dress her, matches the shade of her lips, and the cloak around her shoulders looks lovely enough to touch. _Why,_ Mildred thinks, _why do I feel-_

The woman nods at her, just a slight twitch of the head. Then she ruffles Edward's hair, with those hands in sheen gloves, and she passes by. Mildred watches her leave with the man beside her, feeling shaken and unsure.

"Are you alright, Edward?" She asks quietly, shaking off the raindrops on her shoulders and the fuzz in her mind.

"Yes." Edward laughs. His coat is covered in mud.

Mildred lets out a breath, her knuckles white as she grips the umbrella.

"Alright." She says, "Then let us continue."

*

The party is as dreadful as Mildred feared it would be, but then, all of them are.

There is nothing pleasant about these things, Mildred thinks. She's curled on a windowsill, behind a curtain, reading a book. Technically, she should be caring for the children - but they are having the time of their lives with the guests, and she has no cause to interrupt.

So instead, she ignores the laughter and music and reads quietly here in the drawing room, with no disturbance. Only it is hard, to ignore such a hustle and bustle. The window is cool against her cheek, and this is an uncomfortable position, her skirts hanging limply from the window ledge. The sound of the rain would be relaxing, if not for the suffocating noise of the party - now it's simply another noise that seems to be creeping in and making her skin crawl.

Mildred wonders what brought her here. She knows, in some ways, that she's one of the luckiest types of women, having been to boarding school, and then immediately gaining a place in a good house as a governess. She earns her keep and she has a place to stay, which unfortunately cannot be said for most women. Here she at once had the authority she craved and the safety that she needed.

And yet she cannot be happy here. Mildred often wonders if she could be happy anywhere.

There has been this irritating rhythm in her mind, all day long. She taps it on her knee with one hand as the other turns the pages, and though the tune is an annoyance she simply cannot stop playing it over and over, as if a physical sound in her ears.

It's useless to try and read. Mildred sighs and snaps the book shut. She stands from behind the curtain, and moves to the piano instead. The man who had been playing has slipped away, and now she can use it. Perhaps shake this odd rhythm from her mind.

They taught piano, as one of a woman's 'essential skills', though Mildred has never been a natural. It is true for a lot of things - Mildred does not naturally possess abilities, but rather, she learns them, stubborn and headstrong, until she's mastered them. Or, at least, until she can _appear_ as if she's mastered them.

Mildred presses her hands to the keys for a moment. Then she begins to play.

_Where have I heard this before?_ That thought crosses her mind over and over as the jolly tune fills the drawing room. It's the same niggling feeling that had bothered her when she'd seen the woman, before realising she was Gwen.

_Gwen._ Mildred's hands almost stumble over the keys. Those lovely eyes cross her mind again, and Mildred is unsure as to why.

"That's lovely, Miss Ratchet." A male voice drawls.

Mildred does not look up. She knows her employer, Richard Hanover, is leering at her. He leans across the piano, in an extravagant suit, but he does not intimidate her. Hanover is the type of person she is used to. He is full of confidence and riches, but he is shallow. She has never cared for him, but when the situation requires, she can pretend to.

"Thank you, sir." She murmurs, feigning shyness. It is then she remembers where she had heard that tune before. The music hall. It has been following her ever since that night.

"Will you play more for me?"

"I'm sorry?" Mildred asks, distracted.

"I asked," He leans closer, smelling of alcohol and supper, "If you would play more."

Goosebumps prickle uncomfortably on her skin, but Mildred does just as he asks. That is her job, after all. It is to _please._ And often, she wants to forget that, but there are reminders everywhere.

She continues to play as he listens, until a friend of Hanover's comes over and pulls him away. Thankful, Mildred lets out a long breath and stands quickly, ignoring Hanover's glance back at her. This night is terrible, she thinks, pain pounding in her head again. She wants to _leave._

Mildred wanders out of the manor. When she wishes to, she can be as if a ghost, drifting quietly through busy crowds. No one ever notices. It's a talent she possesses naturally, but has honed carefully over the years.

"Salvatore," She murmurs, to the man standing by the front doors, "Would you mind driving me out to town?"

Salvatore pauses, considering her.

"Miss," He begins, "I don't know if I will be able to-"

"Please." Mildred says, morphing her expression into something pleading, that she knows will melt him. "I can offer excuses, if you are caught, I promise. I simply want to be driven there, and back."

Mildred doesn't _know_ why this suffocating feeling pushes so hard on her chest sometimes, but it is now - and she simply wishes to escape. She wants to go to the music hall, where it had been loud in a lovely, musical way, where she had been a stranger amongst the crowd, warm with the smell of tobacco and that woman's eyes.

"Alright." Salvatore sighs.

"Thank you." Mildred says warmly, resting a hand on his arm, and they slip in the dark towards the carriage.

Lately, Mildred has been taking advantage of his kindness. She recognises this, and she also does not care - the apathy has grown in her since she was young, and often consumes her now. To Mildred feelings can be rare, and tightly hidden beneath the layers of her dress. There is not much room in her for feelings, or at least, that is what she has convinced herself. She ignores the twinge of guilt inside of her as she sits quietly in the carriage.

Salvatore drops her in the city for the second time today, and salutes before riding away. A small smile is blooming on Mildred's face, but she doesn't notice as she steps through the rain toward the music hall. Her heart is pounding with the rebellion, the anticipation, of it all.

She's late for the show. Inside, she fits in with the shadows, standing at the edge of the crowd. Mildred breathes in the tobacco and the atmosphere and, for the first time in a week, all of the tension simply slips from her shoulders. The pounding of music in her ears is so much nicer than the sounds of polite conversation she has to bear every single day.

Mildred peers over the crowd. _Gwen hasn't performed yet._ That's not why she came, Mildred assures herself, but she cannot help but think of Gwen as she stands alone in the smoky air.

*

Gwendolyn breathes out a ring of smoke.

She's leaning over the music hall balcony, her suit tight around her. The shirt is slightly unbuttoned, and the chill of the rain and the air touches her, makes her feel refreshed and new. The stars shine back at her, twinkling like her eyes, and it is a lovely night, she thinks quietly, taking in a drag of her cigar.

When she had seen that woman, in town, in a bland dress almost identical to the one the woman had worn last week at the music hall, something had caught in her throat. Really, those _eyes..._ they are unlike anything Gwendolyn has seen before, and she has been with quite a few women, even fallen in love, before. _Haunting,_ Gwendolyn thinks, over and over again.

Usually, Gwendolyn would have two options: to pursue, or to ignore. The first was a path she had begun to take more often. As the years have went on she has grown bolder in seducing women, always only when they want to be seduced, and now it is almost _easy_ to spot when a potential suitor will be interested in her. Not with this stranger, though. She is at once open and closed, as mysterious as the night sky.

What is it about her, Gwendolyn asks herself. She cannot help but feel as if they have met a million times before.

She considers this, blowing out smoke again.

"We're ready for you, Gwendolyn." Huck calls warmly, and Gwendolyn turns to him with a smile, tapping remnants from her cigar.

"Well," She says, stepping away from the edge of the balcony, "I shall not leave the audience waiting."

Gwendolyn began performing when she was young in America - after years alone in a huge manor, with only her governess for company, she had run away and struck out on her own. It was terrifying, at first, lonely on the dark city streets. But a gentleman had offered her a place as a performer, and it had been the best decision she ever made.

And yes, she did like England, as much as anyone did. It was cloudier, busier, and often less glamorous, but it had its charms. The audiences, too, were very responsive. She did enjoy that about performing her.

When she struts out on stage, and hears the cheers, it revives something inside of her. Gwendolyn feels free, dressed in these clothes, dancing around a stage as if it was made just for her. She has never found a joy as pure as this, and as addictive. Once she had thought she could never possibly perform in front of people like this. Now it is as easy as breathing.

As she performs she keeps looking through the crowd. She's not hopeful, of course, she's too old for pining for a single woman. This is what Gwendolyn convinces herself, anyway, as she scours the crowd for the woman with the haunting eyes.

She finds her, finally, on the edge of the crowd. She's leaning against the wall, watching her, and Gwendolyn feels warm. She's wearing the same dress. She has that same unreadable look on her face. But everytime Gwendolyn sees her, she seems to shift, become something new.

I am far too old for this, she tells herself. Yet... yet Gwendolyn smiles, just a little brighter, as she performs. If only she could _speak_ to this stranger, to act on the feeling growing inside of her from just two simple meetings. If only she could introduce herself, looking into the woman's eyes and know, for better or worse, if this feeling was at all reciprocated.

The performance ends. Before Gwendolyn can throw the rose to her, the woman is slinking away from the crowd. Gwendolyn pauses, disappointed, before throwing it to a pretty woman on the front row. It's probably just as well, Gwendolyn thinks. The woman had been so far that there was no guarantee the rose would reach her, and anyway, it's better not to indulge this slight fancy.

Oh, nonsense, she thinks. There is nothing wrong with testing the waters, now, is there?

Gwendolyn walks off the stage, throwing her jacket to Huck, who catches it with a laugh.

"You were great out there-" He starts, but Gwendolyn turns to him with a grin.

"Not now, love." She says, storming through the changing rooms, "I'm busy."

She finds her way through the crowds, quickly, used to the sounds and mass of people by now. Gwendolyn steps outside, into the street, and- and _there,_ there the stranger is, leaning against the music hall wall. It's still raining - the woman looks damp already. Gwendolyn smiles to herself, pleased, before stepping towards her.

"Good evening," She asks, warmly, "Did you enjoy the performance, tonight?"

The woman, startled, looks up at her. Oh, she's even more divine up close. She's sharp lines, pale skin, but she's awfully pretty, and very nice to look at. Her gloved hand flutters nervously to her throat, and Gwendolyn's eyes track the movement.

"I did." The woman says. She has a quiet voice, but it has a hardness to it. Firm, final.

"Oh, I'm glad." Gwendolyn smiles. She mimics how the woman is leaning on the wall, looking at her. The woman has turned to stare at the street, unreadable in the dim light. The crowds bustle around them. "Was it you, that I saw in town today?"

"Yes."

"I thought so." Gwendolyn says, "Only- I thought I saw you last week, too. Was it you who I threw my rose to?"

"It was."

"You know, if you had stayed a moment longer," Gwendolyn pauses, wondering if she should push her. The woman seems closed off, but the words slip out of Gwendolyn anyway, "You would have received another."

The woman glances at her, a furrow in her brow. She's awfully serious, Gwendolyn thinks, amused. A peculiar thought crosses her mind, that she'd like to smooth that furrow away with a thumb, to relax the lines of this sharp, hard face.

"May I be so bold as to ask your name?"

"Yes, but I may choose not to answer."

Gwendolyn's smile widens.

"What is your name?"

The woman doesn't respond.

"I'm Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn Briggs." She holds out a gloved hand. The woman glances at it. "It is lovely to meet you. Really."

The woman does not take it. A shame, Gwendolyn thinks. She would've loved to have that hand under hers, to feel its weight. She thought this meeting might put things into perspective, but she's afraid it's only got her into deeper trouble.

"It's raining, and cold out," Gwendolyn starts, "Won't you come inside?"

Gwendolyn watches the woman's throat tremble as she swallows.

"I do not think that is wise." She says. Her eyes betray no feeling, and Gwendolyn's heart sinks. She should leave. Yet she is caught here, in this moment, with the woman beside her. She cannot bring herself to go.

"Why ever not?" Gwendolyn asks, "It is common to make friends, in music halls. In fact, I think it half the point of going."

The woman's frown deepens.

"I am not in the habit of making _friends_. My carriage will be here, soon."

"Alright." Gwendolyn looks at her, framed under the moonlight, and sighs. She is about to ask again, for the hell of it, before a carriage pulls up at the side of the road. The woman lets out a breath, as if grateful, and goes to leave.

Gwendolyn follows. She holds out a hand as Mildred goes to step into the carriage.

"Let me help you." She murmurs. She almost wants to plead with the stranger to stay.

The woman looks at her for just a moment, and then takes her hand. It fits perfectly into Gwendolyn's, a soft, delicate touch on top of Gwendolyn's hand as she rises into the carriage. It is just for a moment. It is so brief it is hardly even a touch. But Gwendolyn feels- feels an enormous connection, sparking in the rain, unlike any she has known.

"Thank you." The stranger says, in almost a whisper.

The woman doesn't look back at her, as she settles into the carriage. Gwendolyn turns away with a nod of goodbye. There is little said.

*

Mildred sinks into the carriage seat, the darkness of the night all around her.

When Gwendolyn's hand had held her own and helped her into the carriage, it had not been like with Salvatore. She had not felt the discontent she had been expecting. It had been- Mildred is unsure, but it had not been uncomfortable. It had been the opposite.

Gwendolyn's warmth, her gentleness, it was all over the music hall, and it was in the rain outside. It was still in this carriage. Mildred folds her hands on her lap, shaken. She had turned the performer's friendship away, with more than enough words. So why does she feel as if she has opened a chapter she cannot turn back from?

The day has been so awful, so suffocating. But as Mildred settles into the rumbling carriage, she almost smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays! <3
> 
> first of all, apologies for how long this update took. a combination of finals, other writing commitments, social life and a busy month stopped me from being able to update! but here we are with another update, and they've finally met :) i'll definitely be updating frequently more from now on, at best once or twice a week
> 
> i'm really excited to go on this journey with you guys, and thank you as ever for reading and commenting <3


	3. performance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What is this?" Mildred asks. The long dress is a pale blue, sparkling under the lamps in the drawing room. The expensive silk is soft to the touch as Mildred runs her fingers over the dress. 
> 
> "What does it look like?" Betsy bites. "It's for next weeks ball."
> 
> "A ball?" Elizabeth exclaims. Her chair scrapes as she stands. "A real ball?"

It has begun to snow in earnest.

Elizabeth, rather than listen to Mildred, sits and watches the snow from the large windows. Her eyes dance with a childish youth, and there is a sparkle in them that is... unfamiliar to Mildred. As a child she was just as serious - she's always been sharp around the edges. But this girl sitting in the drawing room is full of excitement. She's _brimming_ with it.

Outside there is yelling from the youngest Hanover child. Edward is rolling around in the snow, and Mildred wishes she could scold him, but Doctor Hanover had simply laughed when he'd seen it and told her that _boys will be boys,_ as if he hadn't paid a fortune for the coat Edward is ruining.

Mildred finds snow inconvenient. Carriage wheels slip on the ice and, sometimes, overturn (Mildred has heard of people _dying_ in carriage accidents during winter). The hem of her skirts grow damp if she does not lift them high. Snow can be atmospheric, from a distance. Right now, however, the snow is simply irritating her, because it is distracting her student.

"Why can't _I_ play in the snow?" Elizabeth whines, not for the first time that afternoon. She has been paying little attention to the french vocabulary Mildred has been attempting to teach her.

"Your brother has completed his work for the day, and in any case he is much younger than you. You have-"

"His work is _easy._ I don't care about- about French, and painting, and _embroidery-_ " Elizabeth interrupts rudely.

Mildred breaths through her nose.

"You are an impolite young lady." She scolds, "And if you do not concentrate you will be sent away to school."

"My uncle would never allow that."

Mildred privately agrees, but not for the reason Elizabeth thinks. It is not that Doctor Hanover loves his niece and nephew, but rather that he loves to show them off. To the public he is a saviour who had taken in two orphans out of the good of his heart. This narrative is, of course, a pretence. Mildred thinks he spoils them simply because he can think of no other way to communicate with them than riches. If he isn't careful, his niece and nephew will end up just as spoilt.

"I would not be so sure." Mildred slams a textbook on the desk between them, and Eizabeth looks up at her with eyes that are not full of fear but defiance. This little girl is certainly stubborn - and she has been for as long as Mildred has known her. She's almost become fond of Elizabeth's rebellious spirit. Sometimes Mildred thinks that her own spirit may be similar, bold and defiant, before she quickly dismisses the idea.

It is certainly a good job that the drawing room door clicks open before a little smile can bloom on Mildred's face. Enabling the child's behaviour is hardly in her job description.

Mildred turns to the door. Head housekeeper Betsy Bucket, God forbid, stands in the doorway with a dress slung over her arms. To Mildred's surprise she seems even _more_ disagreeable than usual. There is a dark glare on her face, contorting all of her features, and Mildred cannot think of a reason why she is staring at Mildred as if she would like to murder her.

"Yes, Miss Bucket?" Mildred calls.

"Miss Ratched." She says, her jaw tight. She gives Mildred a thin smile. "Doctor Hanover instructed me to deliver this to you."

She steps towards Mildred and lays the dress in her arms, looking for all the world like she'd rather be doing _anything else._

"What is this?" Mildred asks. The long dress is a pale blue, sparkling under the lamps in the drawing room. The expensive silk is soft to the touch as Mildred runs her fingers over the dress.

"What does it look like?" Betsy bites. "It's for next weeks ball."

"A _ball?_ " Elizabeth exclaims. Her chair scrapes as she stands. "A real _ball?"_

Betsy rolls her eyes.

"Yes, a real ball." Betsy drawls. She's never liked children, Mildred thinks, amused. Betsy turns back to Mildred. "Doctor Hanover is hosting it in celebration of the 10th anniversary of his practice opening. He wishes for you to attend personally."

Mildred pauses. She was not expecting this - but she had known the lord of the manor is particularly fond of her, and it was only a matter of time before she became part of his philanthropist narrative. Mildred Ratched will become the pretty little governess, treat well by her employer. She can almost imagine him parading her around the ballroom by her arm and swallows.

"But-"

"I was instructed to tell you," Betsy continues bitterly, "That there is no room for debate. You will attend, or risk unemployment. Those are the master's words, not mine."

Well, Mildred supposes it can't be helped. If the ball is an extension of her duties then she must attend. It is as simple as that. And the dress, Mildred thinks, is quite pretty. She thinks it will suit her - it is not often she gets to dress up in expensive clothes. Any item of clothing would be preferable to the old beige dresses she is forced to wear every day.

"Right then." Mildred agrees, and Betsy scowls before turning away. Mildred can hear her muttering herself, no doubt wishing _she_ was the one who got to attend the ball in Mildred's place.

It has been quite a while since there has been a ball at Hanover manor. Of course there are the weekend parties that are so common, but they are generally limited to a small crowd. When Doctor Hanover holds a ball, it is a much more ambitious affair - they are full of dancing and chatter and _socialising._ Mildred has never been comfortable in such environments, and this is the first time she has been forced to attend.

She wonders if her recent playing of the piano influenced Hanover's decision. He has always been one to change his mind quickly, with little reason. Something as simple as Mildred at the piano might have caused him to make such a choice.

"A ball." Elizabeth says, delighted. She twirls, her smart dress flowing around her.

"Well," Mildred sighs, "There is no chance of getting you to focus _now_ , is there?"

*

The hotel is one of the finest Gwendolyn has ever been in.

Her 'fiancé', Trevor, had insisted on paying for it. When they had arrived in England he had sought the most extravagant hotel just because he could pay for it, and Gwendolyn, despite having the money to contribute to their stay, had been unable to convince him to let her share in the costs. There are not many people who can resist Gwendolyn Briggs' persuasion - she is a force to be reckoned with. Trevor has always been able to say no to her, however. And that woman from the music hall unfortunately hadn't yielded to Gwendolyn either.

She looks around the dining hall as she takes a spoonful of porridge. Her tea is still steaming - bless the cooks for bringing it to her so hot, she thinks. Gwendolyn is used to living in hotels, as her performances have always required her to travel. She is quite comfortable as she sits in a dress and reads through that morning's newspaper. Trevor has already left for the library. He had taken it upon himself to do some medical research and to talk to the other doctors here while they were in England.

England has brought new experiences, new people, and Gwendolyn finds herself quite liking the place. She can see the snow from the windows and enjoys it, the soft fall of snowflakes onto the pavements and touching people's bonnets. She looks up every now and again to gaze through the large windows.

"Telegraph for Briggs." A curt male voice says. Gwendolyn looks up from her newspaper with a smile.

"Thank you, sir." She bows her head politely and takes the envelope from his tray.

Trevor never minds if she opens the mail. Gwendolyn supposes a lot of the things Trevor lets her do are uncommon for a woman to do, but it isn't like their courtship is _conventional._ It had been frowned upon for them to come on a trip together without holding the marriage ceremony first, but they had done it anyway. Their marriage will be mutually beneficial and just as unconventional, too. It will give them the chance to explore real feelings with the genders they secretly prefer.

"Well," Gwendolyn murmurs, turning the telegram between her hands, "What do we have here?"

The envelope is crisp and there is a dark red seal on the back of it. It seems important, and Gwendolyn opens it with a familiar curiousity that has always gotten her into trouble. It is an invitation, she realises, looking down at the perfect cursive, to a ball at Hanover manor. The name is familiar. Trevor had worked with a Doctor Hanover in the past, had he not?

Gwendolyn purses her lips. She can think of better ways to spend an evening than at a ball. She does not mind the dancing - actually she rather loves to dance. It is the tradition of it all that bothers her. Balls are very much set in their ways. Gwendolyn has never been to a ball that didn't feel stifling simply because she had to dance with _gentleman,_ rather than ladies.

A ball where women can dance with women would be a fine thing, Gwendolyn thinks, huffing out a small laugh.

Attending the ball would mean that Gwendolyn would have to postpone this weeks performance, but the music hall would hardly mind - they're quite infatuated with her, Gwendolyn thinks. And anyhow, an extra week added to the months she plans to spend here isn't particularly inconvenient. She enjoys England after all, and wishes to spend more time with a certain woman with haunting eyes...

It would be rude, she considers, not to attend the ball. And she has already forced Trevor to compromise so _much_ for her. Yes, Gwendolyn decides, she will attend. With that matter attended to she turns back to her breakfast, and pretends to read the newspaper again while her mind drifts to the woman she simply cannot stop thinking about.

*

The dress Doctor Hanover bought for her looks... quite lovely.

Mildred stares at herself in the small mirror in her bedchamber. She smooths her hands down the front of her body, over the expensive silk. The blue dress fits her form perfectly and sparkles under the low sunlight in the room, and it makes her seem older, prettier, less like herself. Often Mildred feels as if she is only pretending, every day, but in the dress she feels... real. Ordinary. Simply a _woman_.

She turns and watches the dress glitter around her. Mildred has never been able to afford a dress like this, and she probably never would be able to. Mildred swallows a lump of emotion, wondering why, suddenly, she feels so sentimental.

There's a knock on the door that distracts her.

"Yes?"

"The master requires your presence in the drawing room." Betsy grumbles, through the wooden door. Mildred smiles at how displeased she sounds. It's not that Mildred _dislikes_ Betsy - it's rather that Betsy has treated her badly since the moment she turned up at the manor, and Mildred is not one to cower in the face of contempt. She always gets a wave of pleasure from Betsy's displeasure.

"I will be down promptly." Mildred says, taking one last look at her reflection.

The manor has been cleaned - it is rather spotless. There's no trace of the children or their mess anywhere. As Mildred descends the staircase she marvels at how quickly the place could be cleaned up, when Betsy put her mind to it.

The servants are bustling around Mildred as they add the last touches to the manor, in preparation for that evening's ball. Mildred steps into the drawing room, swiftly avoiding a tray of food that the servants are carrying, and faces her employer.

Doctor Hanover is a small man with an innocent sort of face, but Mildred is not naïve enough to think him vulnerable. He is, in fact, quite rich, and certainly well connected. As a successful doctor he keeps up his appearances well - if Mildred were in his position she doubts she would be so sociable. The fact is that Hanover wields an enormous amount of power in this county, and Mildred knows better than to cross him. In fact, she does all she can to stay on his side, and thus share just a little of his power.

Though, Mildred thinks, he looks rather ridiculous in his new suit. It's a Bohemian style and it is positively awful - Mildred has never seen such a terrible suit, but she supposes it will be complimented by their guests. Hanover has bad taste, Mildred has always thought. The manor is referred to as _avante-garde_ by Hanover's friends, and Mildred knows better than to think that a compliment.

"You look splendid." The doctor leers at her, and Mildred tries hard to suppress her amusement. She does what she must: she bows, she blushes, she gives him a timid smile. The ways of a lady are ingrained into her by now. She simply does such things by instinct, and she's good enough at it that she pleases most people she meets.

"Thank you, sir." Mildred says, careful to make her voice softer, gentler, than its usual tone, so to make him feel more masculine. "Is that a new suit?"

"I'm glad you noticed!" He lets out a laugh. Hanover is full of laughs today. Just this morning he'd been laughing so loudly she could hear it from where she was trying to read in the library.

"Of course, sir."

"And what do you think of the decorations?"

"Very good, sir."

In fact, they are a little overbearing, but it would be impolite to say.

"Yes, I thought so." He gives her this smile that makes her skin crawl. "You will be glad to attend, I presume? I do not suppose many ladies in your position get to attend balls quite like this."

Mildred nods, swallowing the clever retort that was on the tip of her tongue.

"Yes." Hanover agrees, as if he's quite the saint to be allowing Mildred a place in such an event. In reality Mildred would much rather be attending the music hall tonight, but alas. Perhaps this ball is a secret blessing, Mildred thinks. At least she will avoid Gwendolyn Briggs...

They are thankfully interrupted by the sound of a carriage on the ice outside.

"Oh, dear." Hanover wipes sweat from his brow. He's always been nervous about pleasing his colleagues and friends, and a ball is sure to add a little more pressure than usual. Mildred herself feels an uncharacteristic twinge of nervousness. "It seems the early birds have arrived."

It usually takes around an hour or two, for guests to arrive at this sort of occasion. Of course there are always those who are early - usually families who are eager to impress and want, for a reason Mildred does not quite understand, to be known as the ones that arrive earlier. Then there are the parties that will arrive a few hours after the time they were invited, or as they will call it, _fashionably late._

The guests stream inside, accompanied by loud music played from the piano and glasses of wine or champagne and finger foods that sit on fancy tables. The air is thick with excitement, with laughter, with polite conversation. Mildred is paraded around the guests, as expected, and sometimes forced to dance. Hanover keeps passing her glasses of wine, which she is grateful for. They give her a fuzzy feeling and distract her from the anxiousness she feels upon being at the ball.

_The governess_ , is how Hanover introduces her. He speaks of Mildred being an orphan, and a skilled governess. She is forced to answer questions like, _how many languages do you know?_ and _do you draw?_ as the guests assess how accomplished a woman she is.

Over the hours the dress becomes tight and Mildred wishes only to escape. There is politeness and veiled judgement everywhere Mildred turns and the grip Hanover has on her arm gradually becomes tighter, as if he can sense she wants to escape.

Then the night becomes... more bearable. Mildred will remember it later as fateful.

Mildred is fuzzy with alcohol and exhaustion when she is taken to the next guests. Hanover murmurs in her ear who they are as he drags her there. Trevor, as Hanover calls him, was an apprentice with him when he trained in America, and his wife is beautiful, he says, but a little... well, Hanover says, you'll understand when you meet her.

Mildred does not pay attention until she is standing in front of the man and the woman who Hanover was referring to. Her heart stumbles over itself when she finds herself standing right in front of Gwendolyn Briggs.

Hanover introduces her, and Mildred bows, but all she can focus on is the woman in front of her. She stands there, in a long emerald dress, with her short hair styled to perfection, and her eyes are sparkling like the chandeliers above them. She is as pretty and as wonderful as Mildred remembers.

And, when Gwendolyn's eyes meet hers, they widen with realisation too. Mildred is so used to seeing Gwendolyn confident - a performer, an initiator - that the sudden display of emotion on her face is rather thrilling. Her expression flickers back to its usual bold smile, but Mildred had caught it. That shock.

"Oh, we are yet to be married." Mildred hears Gwendolyn say, when she refocuses. "We are still engaged."

"Oh, I apologise. Of course." Hanover nods. "Though I must warn you, I do expect an invitation to the ceremony."

"You can expect to receive one soon." Trevor says. His eyes twinkle just like Gwendolyn's, Mildred thinks. He has a kind face, and he smiles at Mildred as if she were a person, not _the governess._ But when Mildred looks at him, Gwendolyn's... _fiance,_ she is hit with a resentment she does not quite understand.

Confused, she swallows it.

"So you are the governess here at Richard's manor?" Trevor asks her. "Mildred Ratched, was it?"

Mildred nods, forcing a polite smile onto her face. She feels Gwendolyn's eyes on her and wonders how Mildred looks to her, in such a fine dress, her hair falling around her shoulders.

"Does he treat you well?" Trevor asks. "Richard was quite the rascal, when we were apprentices. I am not surprised he's still a bachelor."

Hanover lets out a bark of laughter.

"Don't suggest such things." Hanover says, his hand landing on Mildred's waist. "You'll get me into trouble."

Uncomfortable, Mildred steps away from the warm hand that had been holding her. She looks up at Gwendolyn, who gives her a reassuring smile.

"Are you well?" Gwendolyn asks her, while the men laugh.

"I- Yes." Mildred finds it difficult to summon her usually chilly tone when she is at such a raucous ball, and her edges are all softened by the champagne. She finds herself leaning into Gwendolyn's space as she speaks to her quietly, like they're the only two people in the world. "Are you?"

"I am now." Gwendolyn murmurs. Mildred pulls away from her quickly.

What on earth is that supposed to mean, she thinks, her eyes quickly flickering away from Gwendolyn.

"Do you two know each other?" Hanover asks. Mildred swallows.

"Not quite." Gwendolyn says, warm, and Mildred does not look back at her. She does not want to see her expression.

"Gwendolyn seems to know everyone in the county." Trevor laughs, "We have only been here a week. By the spring she will have made friends with every family in England."

"What is your secret, Miss Briggs?" Hanover asks.

"I suppose I must be charming." Gwendolyn chuckles. "What do you think, Mildred?"

Mildred pauses, her lips around the rim of a glass. She swallows, her eyes flickering up to meet Gwendolyn's.

"It is not difficult to socialise." Mildred says, at last. "To be well connected you simply need to study the tricks of the trade."

"And what exactly are they?" Gwendolyn asks, her eyes glinting with curiousity.

"It is useless to ask Miss Ratched about such matters." Hanover interrupts, "She's looked as if she were sucking on a lemon all evening. She is as immovable as a stone, when it comes to socialising. "

"Quite." Gwendolyn murmurs. She assesses Mildred, her eyes brushing over her face, her dress, and a blush climbs up Mildred's neck, making the ballroom seem smaller. "Though, if I were you, I would not underestimate her."

"She is quite harmless." Hanover laughs, not understanding. "A timid little thing, Miss Ratched is."

Mildred's mouth twitches with amusement, and she sees a matching smile on Gwendolyn's face. It makes Mildred feel much more comfortable in Gwendolyn's presence, knowing at least that they share this understanding. It is not often that people see her as anything more than a meek governess, with her cheap dresses and polite smiles. Somehow Mildred knows that Gwendolyn doesn't see her like that.

"Trevor, would you mind stepping out with me for a cigar?" Hanover asks, and Mildred blinks. No, she thinks, don't leave me alone with _her_

But Mildred cannot protest - it would be rude. All she can do is watch helplessly as the two men between her and _Gwendolyn Briggs_ disappear through the crowds.

Mildred stands, warm and dizzy, in front of Gwendolyn. She cannot think of a way to escape.

"So, _Mildred._ " Gwendolyn says her name sweetly and it is startling, how Mildred's heart reacts to it. She ignores the feeling, clenching her jaw as she looks out into the dancing crowd. "I did not expect to see you here."

"Nor you." Mildred says, quietly, wishing for nothing more than to escape. She grabs a glass of champagne from a nearby tray and gulps it down.

"So you are a governess here." Gwendolyn says, "I don't suppose it's much fun, with an employer like that."

Mildred glances at her and finds Gwendolyn looking down at her with amusement, and fondness, as if they have known each other for years.

"If I were not obliged to defend my master," Mildred says, "Then I would agree."

Gwendolyn laughs, at that, and Mildred feels a burst of proud at being able to elicit the lovely sound from her.

"You are a curious little thing." She says warmly, and it does not seem derogatory. Instead of irritating her it brings a pink glow to Mildred's cheeks. "I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like you."

If Mildred were not so stubborn, she would repeat the sentiment. Indeed she has never met a performer, nor a _woman,_ who instills such emotions within her. She finds herself replaying those songs she heard late at night, when she is exhausted and weary and wishes for the darkness to consume her. They are quite lovely, and so is Gwendolyn.

Mildred does not like to admit such things.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, I-" Gwendolyn stumbles over her words, and Mildred is again surprised. The woman is usually so confident that it is- _pleasing_ to find shyness underneath her persona.

A new dance begins. Mildred knows this song well. She used to practice it, when she was younger, as if she would one day be at a ball, held in someone's arms and dancing with no thought of money or status or work. It is a mellow but joyful song.

"Oh, I love this dance." Gwendolyn says, "Say, you wouldn't want to dance with me, would you?"

Mildred looks down at Gwendolyn's outstretched hand and blinks.

"Excuse me?"

Gwendolyn just looks at her, and Mildred feels uncertain. An image passes her mind, of Mildred at the center of the ballroom, in Gwendolyn's arms. It confuses her, and she shakes her head.

"No, I would not." Mildred says, her voice hard.

"Yes, I thought so." Gwendolyn drops her hand, and it hangs rather limply at her side. "I'm unsure why I asked."

"As am I, Miss Briggs."

The distance between them says a lot, Mildred thinks, and it is a space Mildred put there herself. She has always struggled with making friends, but Gwendolyn is nothing like the women that have sought her company as a friend in the past. She is- beyond definition. And Mildred widens the distance because it is easier. She is an expert at it, after all.

"You do not make friends at music halls, nor at balls." Gwendolyn says, "Is there anywhere I can reach you, Mildred?"

Mildred looks at this woman in front of her, who seems to want to know her and gazes at her so _sincerely,_ and knows she will say no. And then she will go back to the music hall and watch Gwendolyn perform as _Gwen_ and feel emotions she doesn't have a name for. It is an interesting paradox, Mildred thinks.

"I feel quite uncomfortable in your company." Mildred lies.

"Oh?" Gwendolyn laughs. Her eyes are filled with a sort of flame, flickering under the chandeliers, as she steps towards Mildred. " _Is_ it discomfort? Well, that's something."

"What are you implying?" Mildred does not step away from her. She feels warm in the face of Gwendolyn's anger and she wants to fan it, _deepen_ it, until Gwendolyn expresses what she's really thinking. There are hidden thoughts underneath a lady's politeness, and Mildred thinks Gwendolyn's secrets would be quite interesting.

"You seem quite content playing with me." Gwendolyn says, "But despite your supposed _discomfort_ I assume you will be at the music hall next week."

"I happen to enjoy performance." Mildred tries not to smile, at Gwendolyn's words. It was as if Gwendolyn had taken her thoughts straight from under Mildred's hair.

"Yes," Gwendolyn says lowly, "Yes, I rather think you do."

They are interrupted by the men returning. Gwendolyn turns away from Mildred and Mildred's eyes linger on her, a secret, before turning to Hanover.

"Well, it was a delight to see you again." Hanover says, smelling of cigar. It is like not the pleasant musk that had lingered on Gwendolyn's dress, though, Mildred thinks. "Come and visit me at the manor next week, Trevor?"

"I plan on it. And I am sure Gwendolyn is eager to accompany me."

"Certainly." Gwendolyn says, glancing at Mildred. Mildred swallows. It seems avoiding the woman is going to be more difficult from now on. "I have heard much of your methods, Doctor Hanover. I plan on discussing them with you."

"No need to put pressure on him, darling." Trevor laughs, his hand landing on Gwendolyn's shoulder. Mildred watches him touch her. "I am sure the Doctor will be delighted to speak with you."

"Of course." Hanover says, "And I _must_ head over to the music hall soon. Trevor says you are quite something."

"I am a performer," Gwendolyn says, glancing at Mildred again, "And I have to admit, I'm rather good at it. Though not quite as good as some other women."

Mildred looks away, when she hears that.

"Yes." Trevor agrees, "It's like a transformation."

Rather than that, Mildred thinks _Gwen_ is just one side of Gwendolyn taking control, out there on the stage. One fascinating facet of her that storms across the stage in a suit and sings and dances.

"Well, I'm afraid I have many more guests to greet." Hanover says. He bows and Mildred bows with him quickly. "I will hear from you soon."

"Yes, you will." Trevor agrees.

As Hanover pulls her away, Mildred looks back at Gwendolyn once. For the rest of the evening half of her is still there, standing under Gwendolyn's stare. She keeps glancing for Gwendolyn through the crowd, and whenever their eyes meet the pull towards her seems to get stronger, and stronger, tugging just underneath her left breast.

*

"So," Trevor drawls, in the carriage, "Mildred Ratched, hm?"

Gwendolyn tilts her head back against the chair, replaying for probably the thousandth time the way Mildred had looked in that _dress._ Shimmering blue, the colour matching her pretty eyes, her face softened and flushed. She had been... rather beautiful, Gwendolyn thinks. She could hear her heart in her ears as she spoke with her.

And what exactly had that conversation been? She is unsure whether _why_ Mildred is toying with her, but she is helpless to stop it. The woman is clever and interesting and gorgeous and she simply will not get out of Gwendolyn's head, even after just two conversations. 

"Sorry, darling," Gwendolyn says, "What did you say?"

"I said, you seemed quite in awe of that governess." Trevor gives her a knowing glance, "Is there a story there?"

"Oh," Gwendolyn says, her hand fluttering to her neck. "She just attended a few of my performances. I tried to speak to her but she is quite... difficult. I think she would rather I left her alone."

"I see." Trevor says, "But are you interested in her?"

Gwendolyn sighs.

"Oh _Trevor,_ isn't she lovely?" Gwendolyn says, "I am quite worried about the state of my heart."

"Yes, proceed with caution. Any old fool with eyes could see how you were looking at her." Trevor reaches forward and pats her knee affectionately.

"I am unsure if it will go anywhere, but I..." Gwendolyn's eyes flutter shut. "I am in rather a lot of trouble."

Gwendolyn does not know that across from her, Trevor has come to his own conclusions. He was, in a lot of circumstances, more observant than his fiance, who tended to think with her heart rather than her head. He had seen the way Mildred had looked at Gwendolyn when her head was turned. He had seen an inner conflict and a _desire_ there, so bright it had almost pained him.

But he cannot say this. After all, love is better left to bloom on its own. Trevor is just curious how the whole thing will turn out.

"I never thought a woman like Mildred Ratched was your type." Trevor says, "She's so..."

Gwendolyn smiles, and it has affection in it. Trevor wishes for the day he feels like that, too.

"Yes," Gwendolyn says thickly, "Yes, I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter this week? it's a miracle! 
> 
> there are a few reveals in this chapter, including more information about hanover, trevor, and another conversation with mildred and gwendolyn. i rly enjoy writing their back and forths :) plus there's also more opportunities for the two to interact now... the more i write, the more i love this setting!
> 
> i want to unravel this story slowly but also keep it focused on the action and mildolyn's relationship!! I have a lot of ideas hehe :) so i hope you enjoy being in this universe with me! and thank you as always for your hits, kudos and comments!


	4. a little chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Miss Ratched doesn't smile." Elizabeth giggles, tilting the hat on her head.
> 
> "Oh, I don't know." Gwendolyn says, "Everyone smiles. She must."

Gwendolyn steps down from the carriage with a practiced elegance.

Trevor takes her hand, and guides her from the carriage to the gravel, the way a male suitor courting a female should. Under her bonnet, which is an expensive hat ordained with a large flower, the cold breeze touches Gwendolyn's cheeks. She lets go of Trevor's hand and looks up at Hanover manor with a mixture of anticipation and curiousity.

"Are you ready?" Trevor murmurs in her ear. "I wonder if we will run into a certain governess..."

"Give it a rest." Gwendolyn says, glancing at him in amusement.

He has, lately, become infuriatingly invested in Gwendolyn's... _regard_ for Mildred Ratched. If she had let him, he would've visited Doctor Hanover the _day after_ the ball, but Gwendolyn had convinced him against it. It isn't polite, she'd insisted, and anyway she'd had a throbbing headache that could only be explained by an excess of champagne and the nightcaps they had back at the hotel.

Now, on a dull Thursday afternoon, Gwendolyn stares up at Hanover manor. She had noticed on the night of the ball that it was peculiar building, but there had been a bustling crowd and she couldn't observe it properly. Now she notices that it's large, and it's architecture is distinctly Italian, but there are French windows and the patio protrudes strangely. The garden is severely overgrown. She's never seen anything quite like Hanover manor. It feels like a mismatched attempt to be fashionable.

Doctor Hanover gives a similar impression, she thinks. He is regarded as one of the most accomplished Doctors in England, yet his suit from the ball had been... well, Gwendolyn can think of no other word but _horrific._

The footman on the patio bows.

"This way, sir, miss," He says to them, and Gwendolyn follows behind, lifting the hem of her skirt so it doesn't touch the ground.

Gwendolyn looks through the several open doors as they pass through a huge hallway. There is a dining room, with a deep purple tablecloth spread across the long table that Gwendolyn rather likes. There is a spiralling stairwell that she had admired at the ball at the centre of the manor, and she gazes at it again as she is led to what she presumes will be the drawing room for a nice spot of tea.

Instead, they are taken to an office. The room is cluttered with books, and Hanover sits at the desk with his glasses on the end of his nose, his face schooled into a studious expression that seems almost practiced. Gwendolyn's lips twitch when she realises the whole situation has been set up to make Hanover look like an accomplished doctor. In his office with his tiny glasses and his tight suit, that Gwendolyn notices fits uncomfortably at the shoulders shoulders, he is putting on a show.

"Good afternoon," Hanover stands and bows. He takes off his glasses in a single elegant movement - again, Gwendolyn thinks, practiced. "Please, sit, sit. You must be tired after your journey."

"It was quite a pleasant trip, actually." Trevor says, sitting down. Gwendolyn follows him, sitting at his side. She glances behind Hanover and finds the garden is just as overgrown at the back as it was at the front of the house. "You have a stunning home, Doctor."

"Yes," Gwendolyn agrees, amused. Trevor knows that tone. He glances at her in warning.

"Thank you." Hanover says. He gives them a pleased smile, and Gwendolyn presses her lips together. The more time she spends here, the more she is going to struggle not to laugh. Keeping up appearances, Gwendolyn thinks, will be quite difficult. "Would you like afternoon tea?"

"That would be splendid." Trevor says.

Hanover rings a bell, and a woman comes rushing to the door. She bows deeply, her dark hair in what Gwendolyn thinks must be a painfully tight knot.

"Tea, Betsy." Hanover says dismissively. Gwendolyn feels sorry for the poor housekeeper - she seems quite enamoured by Hanover, if the frantic nodding of her head and her pink cheeks is anything to go by. But he only waves a hand as if to say _leave_ and Gwendolyn gives her back a sympathetic smile as Betsy scurries away.

Hanover takes a drag from his cigar, blowing his smoke towards the open window.

"Cigar?" He asks Trevor.

"Yes, please."

As the musk of tobacco fills the office Gwendolyn longs to ask for a cigar too, but it would be frowned upon. She sits back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, and glances behind her. The door is still open. She looks through the hallway for a glimpse of Mildred Ratched, and finds none.

"So," Trevor says, cigar at his lips, "I've heard that you've been working on a project lately?"

"Yes." Hanover says, pushing out his chest, "It is an accomplishment for neurosurgery."

Gwendolyn listens with interest as they discuss the particulars of the operation that Hanover has been experimenting with. He lays out a few documents, diagrams and scribbled notes resting between them on the table. Gwendolyn finds them interesting, if a little morbid.

"So these... rods," Trevor says, pointing to the diagram, "When they are inserted through the skull, they will remove certain 'impulses and desires', as you called them?"

Now this has made Gwendolyn's interested smile fade into a frown. It is barely there, just a hint of a downturned mouth, but it _is_ there, nevertheless. The idea of the operation grates at her. When she was young there was a priest who had said the same thing to her: _you can remove these desires through purging your sins and turning towards God._ Yes, she thinks bitterly, often the sinful 'impulses and desires' that medicine tries so hard to fix are no more than natural urges, and not sins at all.

Now they are trying to correct these sort of things through _brain surgery,_ rather than religious conversion. It would be amusing if it wasn't so tragic, Gwendolyn thinks. If she were to bet on it, she would say with certainty it wouldn't work anyway. All of the rods in the world couldn't change a soul.

"Exactly. I have had numerous results," Hanover pushes a sketched graph across the table, "Most positive, as you can see here."

"I see." Trevor murmurs, his hand stroking his chin, "And have you received much funding for this... project?"

"Oh, yes. As you know, I run my own private practice now, but many hospitals in the country have provided a generous sum of money for my research. I'm hoping to spread the surgery across Europe, when it is formally adopted in England."

Trevor nods.

"It's quite fascinating." He murmurs.

Fascinating indeed, Gwendolyn thinks. She had come here interested in Hanover's work - his essays on the subject of neurosurgery had been fascinating - but this is... not what she expected. She finds herself quite repulsed by the operation he's proposing.

At this moment the housekeeper stumbles inside, a tray in her arms, and sets it on the table where it _clatters,_ all of the cups clinking together. Hanover sends her a glare, perhaps for the noise, and the housekeeper bows sheepishly before scurrying out of the room again.

"These _impulses and desires,_ " Gwendolyn drawls. She looks into Hanover's eyes with a directness that tends to unsettle most people, and especially men. Trevor nudges her subtly, and she ignores him, "What exactly are they?"

Hanover considers her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Well..." He pauses, "There are sins that could be corrected. Criminals could benefit greatly from this surgery, as well as the less... desirable in society." Gwendolyn suppresses a scowl when he says this. _Undesirables indeed,_ she thinks furiously. Trevor glances at her, and Gwendolyn can tell he agrees, though he is much more polite about it.

"Such as?" Gwendolyn presses.

"Well, you must forgive me," Hanover winces, "The undesirable, by which I mean, the insane, for instance, and the sexually... depraved."

_Sexually depraved._ It's almost funny. If only Hanover knew that the respected doctor and his fiancé sitting in the office opposite him fall under the umbrella of _sexually depraved._ If only he knew of their agreement to keep up their marriage for appearances, while secretly pursuing same sex partners.

Gwendolyn raises an eyebrow at Trevor. She feels sympathetic towards him, of course. To hear your old friend speak in such a manner must be discouraging.

"Interesting." Trevor says lightly.

"Indeed." Gwendolyn bites.

"I was hoping, Trevor," Hanover continues, "That you would be interested in pursuing this research with me. You were a valuable colleague, when we were apprentices. It would be my pleasure if you would work alongside me. Once you return to America you may be able to benefit me also. It would be an honour to spread the surgery to the states."

Trevor sits back in his chair, letting out a ring of smoke from between his lips.

"I will consider the offer." Trevor says, which Gwendolyn knows means _absolutely not, thanks._ "I make no promises, Richard, but thank you."

Hanover's face brightens. Oh dear, Gwendolyn thinks, almost bursting into laughter.

"Thank you, Trevor." Hanover holds out his hand and stands, "I hope to see you again soon."

"And you." Trevor says. "There is a restaurant in town I've been wanting to try."

"I will check my schedule." Hanover says.

With gritted teeth Gwendolyn bows and steps out of the office. Only when the office door has shut behind them does Gwendolyn begin her rant.

"The nerve of him!" She bursts out, storming down the hallway, with the footman hurrying behind her. "I have every mind to burst back in there and-"

"Calm down, dear," Trevor says sweetly, pressing a hand to her shoulder. She sniffs and ignores him.

"I hated that suit." Gwendolyn grumbles.

"What?"

"Nothing." She lifts her skirt, suddenly, realising it had been trailing along the ground behind her. Damned things. Gwendolyn misses her trousers, in moments like this. "The sooner we are out of England, the better."

"You don't mean that." Trevor says, amused. There is a vein of irritation in his voice, but he has always been more patient than Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn has often thought the man may be a saint. "And anyhow, we'll be back in this manor soon enough. You need to see that governess of yours."

Gwendolyn's frown eases a little when Trevor says this. She pauses, her heart lifting slightly. Indeed it does bring a smile to her face to think of the governess, her lovely dark hair, her haunting eyes, her stiff shoulders. She's endearing and pretty and interesting and completely fascinating and Gwendolyn will be sorely disappointed when she has to return to America.

With a little of her fury sated, Gwendolyn's steps slow. She glances inside of a door on her left and freezes.

There she is, as if a dream summoned by Gwendolyn's thoughts. Mildred is sitting at a desk, her chin in her hand, and there is a young blonde girl opposite her reciting what sounds like a poem. She is in one of her dull dresses again and the grey light of the sky outside of the window isn't flattering, but Gwendolyn still finds herself quite enamoured by her.

"Mildred." She says, warmly.

*

The drawing room is cold.

Mildred has been listening to Elizabeth recite a poem for a quarter of an hour now, and the animated way in which the young lady reads is infuriating. She would prefer the dull, emotionless recitals of her youth to Elizabeth's dramatic gestures, but she sits back and watches and listens as she's supposed to. Her legs are shivering underneath her skirts, but Elizabeth had insisted on the windows being open for the _atmosphere_.

The truth of the matter is that Mildred loves poems, she has written a few herself, but they are meant to be read and to be written in private. If it were up to her the entire concept of reciting a poem would be outlawed, for the practice ruins the integrity of literature. But Doctor Hanover had requested this personally. He wanted Elizabeth to be able to recite poems from memory at parties.

And, Mildred thinks wearily, to be able to _sing songs_ at such events. God forbid.

"Mildred." A familiar voice says, from the doorway.

Mildred freezes. She hopes the voice is just a figment of her imagination, a daydream thought up by her sleep deprived brain. But alas, when she looks up, Gwendolyn Briggs is there in the doorway. She wears a golden dress that has the impression of being sunkissed, and in one of her hands is a huge hat ordained with a flower, the other is holding up her long skirt.

She steps inside the room with a slight bow, and Mildred stands.

"Good afternoon," She says, and turns to Elizabeth, "And who might you be, young lady?"

Elizabeth stands quickly and gives Gwendolyn a curtsy. Her face reflects a youthful awe that Mildred has noticed she adopts in the presence of adult women, as if she admires them greatly. Another of her good qualities, Mildred thinks, in secret.

"Elizabeth Hanover." She greets politely, "But I prefer Liza."

Mildred sends her a warning glance.

"Elizabeth." She says.

Gwendolyn ignores this, taking another step forward.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Liza." She says, "I'm Gwendolyn Briggs, though you can call me Gwen, if you wish."

Mildred turns to the window, staring out into the overgrown garden. The manor really does need a gardener, she thinks, ignoring Gwendolyn's pointed glance. She is aware of Gwendolyn's movements out of the corner of her eye and it unsettles her heartbeat, makes her feel nervous and uncertain.

"Do not encourage her, Miss Briggs." She says.

"Oh, but you must encourage young women." Gwendolyn says, and ruffles Liza's hair. "Or they will end up as stoic as you, Miss Ratched."

Mildred glances at her, but Gwendolyn means it in good humour. Her eyes are twinkling. She's positively beautiful under this light, though it is gloomy and cold - she is practically a ray of sunlight in this dim drawing room. Mildred does not let herself entertain these ideas, but the thoughts are at the back of her mind, always.

"I love your dress." Elizabeth says giddily.

"Oh, thank you, dear." Gwendolyn says. "And I yours."

It's a frilly pink thing, Mildred thinks, but she has to agree as Elizabeth laughs and twirls. It reflects some of her spirit, Mildred supposes.

Oh, curse Gwendolyn Briggs. She's turning Mildred _soft._ That is a crime indeed, Mildred thinks, crossing her arms.

"Thank you, Gwen." Elizabeth giggles. Mildred purses her lips. "Are you here on business?"

"Well, aren't you a sharp one?" Gwendolyn laughs, "Yes, indeed."

"Will you be visiting often?"

"As much as I am permitted." Gwendolyn says, sending Mildred a smile. Mildred's heart flutters. She thinks if Gwendolyn continues to visit she will be in a lot of trouble - it is hard enough to keep up her façade as it is.

"Oh, _delightful_." Elizabeth says, "Can I try your hat?"

"Elizabeth." Mildred says sharply.

"Of course." Gwendolyn sets the hat gently on Elizabeth's head. "Here you are."

Elizabeth laughs, giddy, and runs to look at herself in the mirror. Mildred turns to give Gwendolyn a scowl.

"You mustn't encourage her." She says, with as much firmness as she can muster, but it is softened by Gwendolyn's face. Bright as sunlight, and gentle too. She watches Elizabeth with fondness and Mildred can't find it in her to be as stern as she should be. She keeps finding new sides of Gwendolyn Briggs, and each one is as colorful and fascinating as the next.

"Oh, but she's so lovely." Gwendolyn sighs, "I see myself in her youth."

Mildred blinks. She, too, had found a part of herself in the young girl.

"I'm curious, Mildred, as to what you were like when you were her age." Gwendolyn says, stepping towards her across the drawing room. Mildred, on instinct, steps backwards. "Did you laugh, then? I swear, I have not even seen a smile from you. I think I would quite like to draw one from that stern face."

"Miss Ratched doesn't _smile._ " Elizabeth giggles, tilting the hat on her head.

"Oh, I don't know." Gwendolyn says, "Everyone smiles. She _must._ "

The teasing is not quite... as unpleasant as it should be. Mildred flushes.

"Do you think so, Gwen?" Elizabeth asks, still laughing.

"I just know it." Gwendolyn says, "I am an actor, Liza. So I know one when I see one."

"You are an actor?" Elizabeth is clearly excited by this.

"Indeed, I am." Gwendolyn gives Mildred a wink. "And a rather good one, at that."

"Aren't us ladies meant to be modest?" Elizabeth giggles.

Gwendolyn leans down and tweaks her nose. Mildred finds herself quite jealous of Gwendolyn's way with people. She is so at ease here, in a drawing room she does not belong in, with people she hardly knows. Mildred watches her and is caught in the warm way she touches the world. Again, Mildred thinks she has never met anyone like her, and never will again.

"It is often not in a woman's best interests to be modest." Gwendolyn says, "If you have worked hard, then why undermine it?"

"That is the _right way of things._ " Elizabeth mimics Mildred.

"I suppose Miss Ratched spends a lot of time detailing _the right way of things_." Gwnedolyn says, amused.

"Indeed I do." Mildred pipes up, "There is a right and there is a wrong in every situation."

"Is that so?" Gwendolyn considers her with a directness that makes Mildred nervous, uncertain. She keeps her face still, but she cannot control her inner feelings. They swirl within her, warm and needing. "If that were true, then this would be a particularly dull world, wouldn't it?

"Dull, yet ordered, as the world should be."

"Oh, come on, Mildred." Gwendolyn laughs, dropping formalities. Elizabeth looks between them curiously, hat shadowing her eyes. "Don't you crave a little chaos?"

_I do, I do, I do._ Mildred swallows, and Gwendolyn tracks the tremble of her throat smugly.

"Yes, I thought so." She murmurs, and Mildred simply stands there, feeling exposed.

"Are you ready to leave, dear?" Her fiance says, from the doorway. Mildred's eyes flicker to him and her softened face hardens again. She can feel Gwendolyn's eyes burning into her face, but she focuses on that man, waiting for her. He'll take her arm. He'll lead her home. Mildred clenches her jaw, without realising it.

"Yes, I suppose I am." Gwendolyn smiles and takes the hat from Elizabeth's head. "It was delightful to meet you, Liza."

"And you, Gwen." Elizabeth says, with much disappointment.

Gwendolyn then takes a step toward Mildred, and Mildred's eyes flicker back to her. She's glowing up close, like the stars. Her eyes seem to flicker gold just like her dress.

"I will see you on Saturday." She says quietly, referring to the music hall, Mildred supposes.

"Will you?" Mildred asks, stubborn as always.

"I don't doubt it." Gwendolyn holds out her hand, perhaps to shake Mildred's.

Mildred nervously observes that neither of them are wearing gloves, and takes Gwendolyn's hand with trepidation. Her heart stumbles. Gwendolyn's palm is rougher than she imagined, but warm under her own, and she squeezes Mildred's hand with a gentleness that contrasts with her direct words, and her aggressive stance. The world stills for a moment. The time seems to drag on in silence, and they should have let go by now, surely...

"Good day, ladies." She says warmly, looking into Mildred's face. It breaks the spell and Mildred lets go of her hand quickly. She feels as if she's lost at sea.

Mildred bows and watches the two leave with a lump in her throat.

"Miss Ratched?" Elizabeth asks, looking up at her.

Mildred clears her throat. She falls into her chair, looking out at the grey sky. From the drawing room she can see Gwendolyn and Trevor entering their carriage and she tries not to watch.

"Continue where you left off, please." Mildred says shortly, and runs a hand over her face. It's still warm. Tingling with Gwendolyn's touch.

*

The cool air is a blessing after performing in the stifling music hall.

Gwendolyn wipes beads of sweat from her forehead, breathing in the chilled evening. The dark of the night is stunning, and the stars capture her interest for a moment. But they are not her purpose for coming outside. On stage, performing with more vigour than usual, she had spotted Mildred again. Of _course_ she had. The way Mildred sits or stands in the crowds watching her with those wide eyes, haunting as always, makes Gwendolyn feel like melting.

She has begun to crave the feeling of Mildred's eyes on her. Performing would not feel the same without it.

Irrationally, Gwendolyn had disappeared from the stage afterwards and had come to stand here, where they had spoken for the first time, as if Mildred might be waiting for her. There is not much chance of it - Mildred enjoys avoiding her. But still, the idea that she could possibly be there wasn't so little that Gwendolyn thought it hopeless.

She does not utter _please_ to herself as she darts through the crowd, top buttons of her suit open, but she almost does. _Almost._ She feels lately as if she's on the edge of falling.

It is ridiculous, perhaps. They've not spoken often. But Gwendolyn feels like they've known each other for so much longer than they have. She's thinking of this when she spots Mildred leaning against the wall and she freezes in her tracks, stopping where she stands, as the crowds bustle around her.

As if a daydream, a phantom in the night, Mildred leans there with the rose Gwendolyn had thrown her held at her chest. She's looking up at the stars, her face unreadable as always. Gwendolyn grins and darts up beside her.

"I wasn't waiting for you." Mildred says, quickly.

Gwendolyn leans beside her, feeling smug and happy. It is, she thinks, a very good day. She's been having a lot of those since she came to England.

"I didn't ask."

Mildred glances at her, and Gwendolyn looks into those lovely eyes and has to take a breath. She pulls a cigar from the inside of her coat and takes a drag of it quickly, easing the uncharacteristic nerves that plague her every time she sees the governess.

"Did you enjoy the show?" Gwendolyn asks. Mildred lifts one shoulder in half a shrug. "You tend to watch me quite... intently. It can be distracting."

Is that a flush, on Mildred's cheeks, climbing her neck in the darkness?

"You always see what you wish to, Miss Briggs." Mildred says lowly, as if a warning, but she doesn't step away from Gwendolyn. Though Gwendolyn is close, her trousers almost brushing Mildred's skirts, she stands where she is, smelling of cheap perfume and the cold night.

"You know that isn't true." Gwendolyn chuckles."I see the world, and you, clearly."

"You hardly know me."

"Yes," Gwendolyn admits, "It's funny, isn't it?"

Mildred looks up at her, biting on her bottom lip, and Gwendolyn has to look away before she does something very rash, very dangerous. She wants to get _closer_ to Mildred, not frighten her away. It always seems as if she's on the edge of disappearing, and Gwendolyn does not want her to vanish into the air as if a ghost.

"Would you like to smoke?" She asks, holding the cigar towards her. Mildred shakes her head, though her eyes linger on the smoking cigar.

"I am waiting for my carriage." Mildred says, unnecessarily, her jaw clenched. Gwendolyn raises an eyebrow. It's been around twenty minutes since the show ended - shouldn't her footman be here by now? Mildred has been on several trips to the music hall, and she's a smart woman. She _knows_ what time it finishes. Gwendolyn half suspects her carriage is hiding around the corner somewhere.

"Is that so?" Gwendolyn blows out a ring of smoke. "How was your day, Mildred?"

"What?"

"How was it?" Gwendolyn asks. She feels softened by the stars and she wants, more than anything, to know of Mildred's day. To trace all of the spaces Mildred has visited. "Where did you go, what did you do?"

"Well, I-" Mildred pauses, "I did my duties."

Gwendolyn hums.

"What does that entail?"

"Teaching, usually. But on the weekends there are no lessons, and those days are more unpredictable. I get more free time. Often I take the children to town."

A little chaos, Gwendolyn thinks sadly. It is disheartening to her that the most exciting thing in Mildred's life seems to be a change in schedule.

"That is why you can escape here on Saturday evenings?"

"I suppose." Mildred glances at her, "And you?"

"My day?" Gwendolyn asks, surprised. She sends Mildred a smile. "I tend to rehearse on Saturdays, though I do like a spot of afternoon tea every now and again. The cafes here are delightful."

"I wouldn't know." Mildred says quietly, "As you'd expect, I don't often get a chance to visit such places."

Gwendolyn pauses. Another wave of sadness passes over her, and she wishes more than anything to take Mildred's hands and tell her, firmly, _I could show you wonderful things. I could give you the world._ She has met women like Mildred before, trapped in places or people. Never, though, has she wanted to pull them to her chest and tell them, _come away with me, there is so much more than this._

"Then would you like to accompany me next Saturday?" She asks rashly. It is too late to take the question back - the invitation already lingers in the air. So Gwendolyn continues. "There is a beautiful place, downtown. I think you would like it there."

Mildred steps away from her, the rose limp in her grasp, and the spell Gwendolyn had found herself held warmly under fades away. She wishes she could backpedal. The caution and fear on Mildred's face is as clear as the stars in the sky above them.

"I don't think so." She says coldly.

"Why ever not?" Gwendolyn asks. She doesn't move from the wall, and she deliberately relaxes her posture, attempting to appear non threatening. "It is a friendly invitation. I think it would do you some good."

" _Friendly?_ " Mildred scoffs. She has closed off completely, after only just beginning to open up. Gwen, she thinks to herself, what have you done? "Please."

"What are you implying?"

"I have started to think your intentions are not exactly proper, Miss Briggs."

"Proper?" Gwendolyn raises her eyebrows. "However do you mean?"

"I do not know what your game is, but you are not my friend, and I am not yours." Mildred's face is as frozen as the air. Gwendolyn longs for it to soften. "You should do well to remember that."

"I'm sorry, Mildred." Gwendolyn says quickly, stepping towards her through the darkness. "It was too much, too quickly, I-"

"Leave me be." Mildred says. Gwendolyn's hand flutters to her neck in an attempt to soothe herself. "I have to leave."

"Mildred-"

"That is _Miss Ratched_ to you." Mildred says, and drops the rose onto the pavement. Gwendolyn can't deny that it stings. "Good evening."

She turns, in a flutter of brown skirt, and walks through the streets to where... her carriage is waiting. Gwendolyn almost laughs. What a woman, she thinks, taking a long drag of her cigar. How long would this cat and mouse game go on? She thinks she would continue it forever if she had to, however much it has started to pain her.

There is something, Gwendolyn thinks, gazing into Mildred's carriage as it passes, there is something that stops her from giving Mildred up. She has flirted with many women who simply were not interested, and she has left them behind without a backwards glance. Why this? Why now? Perhaps she's lonely, or craves affection, or is simply bored...

It is none of that, Gwendolyn realises. It's Mildred. And everything she is. Her eyes and her spirit and the soft glimpses of her Gwendolyn finds behind her armour. That's why she keeps coming back.

"Damn it, Gwen." She mutters to herself. She had not come to England wishing for this, and now it is all she can think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor gwen :( one step forward, two steps back?
> 
> i'm growing quite attached to elizabeth heh i didn't realise writing an original character would b quite as fun as it is!! 
> 
> this another update quite soon after the last, but im too invested in this story now... whenever i try to do something else i always think back to this universe and i start writing again. i hope you enjoyed ;) thank you as always for all of your support


	5. the second invitation

Sunlight gently touches the tip of Mildred's bonnet.

The morning is fading into focus, and the sun is rising just beyond the large windows. Doctor Hanover insists Mildred eat with the family (because, Hanover explains haughtily, _his_ governess always ate with them) and so at breakfast she sits stiffly, a pot of tea steaming by her wrist. As the morning goes on she drinks from her tea and doesn't touch the food laid out at the table, though Elizabeth and Edward eat enthusiastically beside her.

"Napkin, Edward." Mildred reminds the young boy, pointing to his mouth. He nods his head, happy despite the stern look on Mildred's face. He has an innocence Mildred never had, and the youthful ability to brush over any worry or problem with a giddy smile.

"Oh, leave the boy." Doctor Hanover drawls, from behind the daily newspaper. "It's good to see _someone_ enjoying their food, isn't it, Eddie?"

Edward nods, crumbs by his mouth.

Mildred clenches her jaw and turns to the window. She supposes she should be grateful for Hanover - he provides for her, and with less cruelty than other masters might. Yet Mildred finds it suffocating that he chooses what she eats, and where, and when. In fact, the only choice she _can_ make of her own independent will is to _not_ eat.

"The new gardener is arriving today." Hanover says, "Earl, I think his name was. He seems like a nice enough lad."

Finally, Mildred thinks. She spotted poison ivy growing at the base of the manor in the back garden, just last week. And the trees desperately need pruning. She would do it herself if she weren't so busy. When she thinks of how often she's forced to water the plants, she supposes she has technically become the manor's gardener. Hopefully the new gardener will be competent enough to restore the garden.

"I still haven't given up on getting you those horses, Missy." Hanover says, reaching over the table to ruffle Elizabeth's hair.

Elizabeth's obsession with ponies, Mildred thinks, has not waned over the years. In fact, it's gotten _stronger._ Elizabeth's stubborn streak mixed with her childish idealism is a recipe for disaster. She won't be happy until she has a full stable, Mildred thinks grimly. She has no doubt the girl will get it.

She is considering this when Betsy slips inside. The housekeeper hovers in the doorway for a moment. When the sunlight touches her tightly knotted hair, and falls over the frills of her dress, she looks so small, Mildred thinks. It's worse when she curtseys, despite holding a tray, and stumbles over her feet. Mildred purses her lips in an attempt not to laugh as Betsy strolls over to the table.

"Post for Doctor Hanover," She says simperingly, and lays several envelopes by his mug. He simply grunts in acknowledgement.

The silver tray Betsy is holding isn't empty, however. There is an envelope still there, and Betsy stares at it for a moment before laying it gingerly in front of Mildred.

"For you," She says, through gritted teeth, "Miss Ratched."

Mildred snatches it up from the tablecloth. It isn't often she receives post. Doctor Hanover is opening his own mail, and the children are busy eating, so she opens the seal hastily before the letter can be inspected, or taken from her. The paper is expensive and, Mildred thinks curiously, smells faintly of perfume. The handwriting is scrawled, as if in haste, but easy enough to read.

_Miss Ratched,_

_I must apologise for what occurred the last time we met. Though I asked you to go for lunch with me with nothing but pure intentions, the invitation was clearly misconstrued. Tell me, what is it that bothered you about the question? Was it too intimate an event for an early friendship? Is it our difference in social stature that's bothering you? Or were you simply shy, and running from me?_

_Despite your behaviour I still wish to continue my acquaintance with you. It would be a pleasure if you would accompany me for brunch next week. There is this lovely little spot just on the edge of town I have come to enjoy, and I am sure you would be comfortable there. Forgive me for asking again. I assure you I have only kind intentions. I do wish to be your friend, Miss Ratched. That I can assure you of. If you wish to come, I will meet you outside of the music hall at 10:30am._

_If, instead, you wish to sever our acquaintance before it has even started, then you may simply not attend. If I do not see you on Saturday then I will regard it as your answer, and I will thus stay at a polite distance from you and, by extension, Hanover Manor. It is never my intention to force you into anything you are uncomfortable with._

_However, please consider that I am not the enemy. I consider you my friend. Perhaps one day, you will consider the same for me._

_Sincerely,_

_Miss Gwendolyn Briggs_

Mildred pauses, surprised. She had thrown quite the tantrum last week. When Gwendolyn had approached her so easily with the question she had panicked and thrown the rose she had been thrown onto the damp pavement. Perhaps it had been an overreaction, but Mildred is prickly and defensive at best, and the thought that Gwendolyn might have ulterior motives made her uneasy. It is surprising to be met with Gwendolyn's warmth after her behaviour.

Yet Gwendolyn could wish to manipulate Mildred for her own gain, perhaps to get closer to Hanover. She might want to lure Mildred into dangerous or illegal activities. There was no shortage of concerns that Mildred was bothered by.

Yet Gwendolyn has... written to her. And sincerely, it seems. She hadn't called her Mildred, and had kept a formal tone, as if she was trying to respect Mildred's boundaries. Mildred is unsure why Gwendolyn wants to be closer to her so badly, but if she is sincere, then Mildred may be losing the chance of gaining a real, true friend.

Mildred folds the letter carefully and tucks it into her blouse pocket. She leans back in her chair and thinks, and _thinks_ , her mind spinning with possibilities. Saturday is only a few days away. She does not have long to decide.

*

On Saturday morning, early enough that the sun has not yet risen, the gardener arrives.

Mildred is sitting by her window, staring out into the darkness of the night. There is a peace here in the mornings when everyone else is asleep. It's silent. She has no company except for the moon and the stars. She can crack the window open a little, and let the cold air wake her up, with a cup of tea between her palms. She still wears her nightgown. In the shadows she can _think._ Of course, lately, her thoughts have surrounded the letter Gwendolyn Briggs sent to her.

When she sees a shadow moving towards the manor, she watches curiously. She can tell this is the gardener by his large backpack and what seems like huge gardening tools stacked in one of his hands. He stands by the gates, swaying back and forth on his feet as if considering something, before stepping inside and heading toward the main door.

She hears the knock resonate through the manor - 1, 2, 3 knocks, in quick succession. Mildred takes pity on him and steps down from her window, finding her way to the front door.

When she opens it, she sees the man - was it Earl? - clearly. He has a sharp face, and distant eyes. His eyebrows are thick, narrowed, and Mildred has the urge to step backwards and slam the door in his face. But she is Mildred Ratched. So she simply smiles.

"Earl?" She asks.

"That's me." The gardener says gruffly, and takes off his hat. He bows deeply. "At your service."

"You were meant to be here on Thursday."

Earl nods.

"Ran into a bit of traffic on the way, Miss." He says, with an earnest smile, "There was an awful carriage crash not far from here."

Mildred nods, and steps backwards to let him into the manor. His cheek is scabbing over, she thinks, looking at the wound curiously. It stretches quite far, as if he were slashed with something.

"You Betsy?" He asks.

"No, I'm Mildred Ratched. I'm the governess." Mildred smiles back at him, "Betsy will attend to you soon. It's... early, even for us."

Earl rubs the back of his neck, sheepish.

"Not a very good first impression, then?"

"There's always room for improvement." Mildred says, guiding him through the hall. "I will lead you to the drawing room, where you can wait."

"Thanks, Miss." Earl's smile is crooked, and his teeth a little pointed. He has a strong accent that she recognises as being from a neighbouring town. "Fancy place, isn't it?"

She recognises that tone, and laughs.

"It's... impressive. There have been criticisms about the decor."

"Huh. Can't tell the difference, myself."

Something about this young gardener, with mud coating the soles of his shoes, makes Mildred soften. He's similar to her in age, and seems out of his depth, yet strangely optimistic. He reminds Mildred of herself, when she first came to the manor. She opens the door of the drawing room for him and watches as he skulks inside, holding his body in an awkward sort of way, but smiling at her with warmth.

"Me neither." Mildred admits. It is a moment of solidarity. Mildred doesn't know yet, that the people she naturally trusts are the villains.

Saturday morning passes slowly. The gardener settles in quickly and is set to work on the garden, where he stays all morning out in the sun. Meanwhile, Mildred hasn't very much to do, since Hanover has been working and the children are still yet to wake. Mildred keeps pulling out the letter from her blouse and reading it again as if the contents will be different from the last time she looked.

If she is to leave, then she must soon, or risk being late. But Mildred is still hovering on a decision. She's torn between the warm company of another person - a woman she admires and likes and feels inexplicably drawn to - or the comfortable isolation that she has lived in for so very long. She sits watching the sky from the drawing room, a book open in her lap, and wonders.

Mildred doesn't decide until 9:30 that she will go. Once Mildred has made the decision to meet with Gwendolyn she stands from her chair and steps towards the drawing room doorway, an anticipation building inside of her. She has never gone out to eat before. She has never strolled through town with someone who wasn't related to her work. As Mildred searches for Salvatore throughout the manor, she's oddly nervous. She will have to give Hanover excuses of being sick and bedridden, when she returns, but for now Mildred focuses on nothing except the task of finding the footman.

She doesn't find him. Instead, a sweaty palm grabs her wrist.

"Good morning, Miss Ratched." Doctor Hanover says, smiling down into Mildred's face. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

Mildred is startled, but she doesn't betray it in her face. She smiles meekly and bows her head.

"I was going for a walk, sir." She says, her book clutched to her chest. He nods.

"What have you been reading?" Doctor Hanover peers at the cover of the book, "Oh, yes, a classic."

Mildred nods. She hopes he leaves her soon. She's already going to be late.

"Would you read for me?" Doctor Hanover asks, "I have been meaning to ask, but I have never found the perfect opportunity. I wish to hear you read to me this morning."

Mildred wants nothing more than to say _no._ She will miss Gwendolyn's meeting, and risk their future friendship. But she can't reject her master. She must submit to him, and his harsh grip on her wrist, and so she nods and smiles as she's supposed to. She can feel the gardener watching them through the hallway window, but ignores him.

"Delightful." Hanover says happily, and pulls her into the drawing room. He falls onto the long, expensive sofa and crosses one leg over the other. Mildred moves to sit at the armchair that faces him, glad, at least to create some distance.

As the morning sunlight falls on the book pages she reads aloud. Mildred speaks at a steady pace, with care, and she knows it pleases Doctor Hanover. The more the novel goes on, however, the more Mildred despairs. Has she ruined the opportunity to find a real friend? To be close with someone like Gwendolyn, who is so strong and performs so well? A woman who takes her breath away and makes her feel- makes her feel-

Mildred continues to read, and Hanover continues to listen. In secret, Mildred imagines Gwendolyn waiting for a governess that will never show.

Perhaps that's for the better, Mildred thinks. After all, to be alone is to be safe.

*

In hindsight, Gwendolyn thinks, cigar hanging limply from her lips, it isn't a surprise that Mildred didn't show.

She leans back against the chair, her hair slicked back and her brow furrowed with thought. Her shirt has yet to be completely buttoned, and her suit jacket lies over at the chair. In the mirror she seems tired, which she supposes she is. Some would say at her age it is unwise to perform, but Gwendolyn disagrees - it's the only time she feels alive again. She is excited to perform tonight, but another feeling lingers.

Gwendolyn had waited at the music hall for about an hour before leaving. She had went there expecting the worst, but it was surprisingly painful to be faced with it. After all, she'd told Mildred she'd keep a _polite distance_ after this. She'd lost all connection to the woman who haunts her so badly. She had managed to cut off her lovers in the past, but she has a feeling this will be the hardest yet, despite the fact they hardly even know each other.

How lovely would it have been, to see Mildred standing by the music hall in her old dress, hat tilted a little, glowing in the sunlight. If they had walked together, and talked and laugh and ate, and spent time in one another's company... Gwendolyn sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. She was foolish. She should never have sent the letter. Hadn't she learned yet it was unwise to go after women who you had to chase?

Still, their banter and eye contact and Mildred's palm, in her own, those had been real. And they had affected both of them, in some way, Gwendolyn supposes.

If Mildred is in the crowd tonight, what will Gwendolyn do?

Gwendolyn takes a drag of the cigar, blowing smoke at the mirror. The changing room is empty, probably because of the bad atmosphere she'd created around herself, rejected and angry.

"Gwen." A voice says, from the doorway.

Gwendolyn looks into the mirror and her eyes widen, and begin to sparkle with delight. The exhaustion fades from Gwendolyn's face as she jumps to her feet and turns to laugh, delighted, at the stranger in the doorway.

"Mary!" She says, striding over to press kisses on both of the woman's cheeks. She's dressed in this lovely pink dress, and her dark hair falls down her back. "Well, you're just as lovely as I remember."

Mary giggles. Mary had been a sweet lover, Gwendolyn remembers, and she had _adored_ Gwendolyn. When Gwendolyn left England for the states they promised to keep in contact but, after struggling to keep correspondence going, the relationship had eventually come to a slow end. They met just as Gwendolyn and Mildred met: Gwendolyn had thrown Mary a rose too.

"I can't believe you're back." Mary says, giddy with happiness. "I've been coming to see you, you know, every week, but I've been too shy to approach you again. Vic said I should just come and talk to you but I-"

"I'm just glad you're here now." Gwendolyn says, smiling.

"How _are_ you?" Mary asks in a rush, cheeks tinted pink, "How was the States? Oh, Gwen, I've missed you terribly."

"One question at a time, darling." Gwendolyn says, "I am well. The states are... as I left them. And I missed you too. Look at you."

Mary giggles and throws her arms around Gwendolyn's neck. She smells of sunflower, and her hair tickles Gwendolyn's neck. The feelings, though, that Gwendolyn used to have for her, are absent. She can only think of Mildred, who has never held her so closely, and has never laughed so loudly in her presence...

"How long are you staying?" Mary asks, bright and real, real under Gwendolyn's fingertips. So why does she feel... "Oh, Gwen, say you'll stay long. We have so much to catch up on, and-"

Mary talks, and talks, at length about what they could do together. Gwendolyn's mind drifts.

"Oh, dear, I'm not holding you up, am I?" Mary asks, concern flitting over her pretty features, "I'm just so excited to see you again. After the show, would you walk with me? It has been so long since we had those nighttime walks. You know I loved them."

Gwendolyn pauses, her hand fluttering nervously to her throat. She should say yes. She should erase the memory of Mildred from her heart. Yet she can think of nothing worse than having to pretend.

"Sorry, love." Gwendolyn says, "I'm tired, tonight. I think I'll retire early. Another time, perhaps?"

"I'll hold you to that." Mary smiles, "I'll leave now, then. I'll enjoy the show, I promise Goodnight, Gwen."

Gwendolyn smiles after her, feeling lost.

"Goodnight, Mary."

The silence she's left with is almost cruel. Sighing, Gwendolyn falls into it, blowing smoke into the quiet air. Once she would've delighted at the feeling of Mary's arms around her. Yet the embrace felt so empty, and very much like she was meeting an old lover, rather than a future one. If the two's relationship hadn't ended before, then it definitely was over now, Gwendolyn thinks. It's bittersweet.

When she steps onto the stage, under a spotlight, she feels less vibrant than usual. Yet once she begins to perform it slips away, that unease, that pain. She's left with the confidence and exhilaration that comes with performing. Gwendolyn gives it everything she has tonight, and the audience is particularly rowdy, which is a nice touch. It propels her forward.

She sings of lost lovers and flirtations with a sort of irony, her mouth twisting in contempt. When it's time to throw the rose Gwendolyn doesn't bother to look through the crowd for Mildred - she doesn't want to feel a jump of hope, because hoping for the impossible was meaningless. Instead she throws the rose thoughtlessly to Mary and strolls from the stage. She doesn't want to think about anything anymore.

Through the bustle of backstage Gwendolyn changes into a dress and goes to stand out on the balcony, her favourite place to be soothed in. Huck looks as if he's about to join her, but Gwendolyn sends him a warning glance that says _no, please._ It is better to be alone, she thinks, and anyway, she isn't particularly pleasant company right now.

She looks into the night sky and finds a million stars. Gwendolyn tries to find beauty in them.

Gwendolyn is unsure how much time has passed and is about to turn away from the balcony when she hears a soft voice. Polite, tense. Familiar.

Her breath catches. Could it be-

"Miss Briggs." The voice says, and Gwendolyn turns sharply. Mildred is standing there, as if a dream, her hat held between her hands and her eyes downcast at Gwendolyn's shoes.

"Mildred!" Gwendolyn says, surprised. She tries to swallow her delight. For all she knows Mildred is here to shun her. "I mean- Miss Ratched. What on earth are you doing here?"

"I came to explain my absence, this morning. It would be rude otherwise." Mildred murmurs. She's always so tense, in her dresses with her face sharply pursed. Gwendolyn keeps wanting to unravel her.

"There's nothing to explain. You clearly felt-"

"Don't," Mildred bites, sharp as ice and just as cold, "Speak for me."

Gwendolyn falls silent.

"Unfortunately as I was attempting to go to my carriage I was... interrupted." Mildred pulls a face, "I was forced to read to Doctor Hanover for _hours._ Can you imagine that?"

"Fortunately, I cannot." Gwendolyn says, a small smile rising in her cheeks. Not only had Mildred been coming to meet her, but she had also come to explain why she hadn't showed up. She allowed herself a little hope. "So you intended to have brunch with me?"

Mildred pauses, and runs her teeth over her bottom lip. Gwendolyn traces the movement with her eyes.

"Yes." She eventually admits. "Your letter made me realise that you were serious about forming a friendship with me. I do think our acquaintance could be beneficial."

Friendship, Gwendolyn thinks, amused. She looks over Mildred, who's as lovely as starlight. Her intentions are far from friendship, but she will go slowly, for now. She doesn't think she could stand Mildred leaving her again.

"I apologise for my behaviour last week." Mildred continues. She looks pale and uncomfortable as she speaks. This isn't easy for her, Gwendolyn realises fondly. "I was... Well, I am not used to forming friendships. I acted inappropriately."

Gwendolyn gives her a crooked smile.

"So, if you still wish to continue our acquaintance," Mildred voice grows quieter, sweeter. She looks up through her eyelashes. Gwendolyn is in more trouble than ever before _._ "Then I would be glad to go to lunch with you tomorrow, after church."

The silence is warm. Gwendolyn steps forward on the balcony.

"Would you still like to?" Mildred asks.

Perhaps, Gwendolyn thinks, this is their beginning.

"Yes." Gwendolyn says warmly, her eyes flickering over Mildred's dress, her face. She can't wait to break down Mildred's walls, for them to know one another. To touch her. Perhaps even love her, in time. "Yes, Miss Ratched, I would."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally?? some progress between mildolyn??
> 
> happy new year everyone, hope your 2021 goes well <3


	6. a thing of beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, no. I'm never hungry." Mildred's eyes brighten. "I often sneak food from the pantry."
> 
> "You do?" Gwendolyn laughs. This woman always surprises her. "Well, I am glad you're eating with me now."
> 
> "I-" Mildred blinks, seemingly shocked, as if finally realising she has given Gwendolyn a small secret. The implications of I hate having to eat in front of him are not lost on Gwendolyn. After all, it also means she doesn't mind eating in front of Gwendolyn. "Well, I suppose I am eating with you, aren't I?"

It seems fitting, Gwendolyn thinks, that they should meet for lunch in front of the music hall.

They met here for the first time, after all. Their eyes found each others on evenings punctured with sound, music, and the beauty of the atmosphere. There had been a rose, thrown over the crowd. There had been feeling, deep inside of Gwendolyn, like her heart had been waking up. Saying hello. And Mildred had been the woman in the crowd, with eyes so haunting Gwendolyn couldn't forget them.

Now, Mildred is standing with her hands clasped in front of the music hall. Her dark hat shadows her face. She looks achingly shy, and her shoulders are as tense as always. Gwendolyn exits her carriage slowly, so not to startle her.

The streets are damp from an onslaught of rain. Gwendolyn steps across wet cobbles to stand in front of Mildred.

"Miss Ratched." She greets, warmly, but with as much as polite distance as she can muster. Better to start off gently, she thinks. It took a while simply to get Mildred to agree to one lunch. "Good morning."

"Good afternoon, you mean." Mildred gives her a slight smile.

"Is it already?" Gwendolyn smiles back. "Time moves too quickly."

Gwendolyn feels a few, chilling raindrops brush her face.

"Shall we go, before the rain starts?" She asks.

Mildred looks up at her, and gives Gwendolyn a small nod.

When entering the carriage Gwendolyn doesn't hold out her hand, not this time. She lets Mildred go first, as to give her a sense of control, independence. They sit together under a low carriage roof but Gwendolyn keeps a small distance between them, though she's lured in by Mildred's faint perfume, and her pretty hands that lie still on her lap.

It's the closest they've been, Gwendolyn thinks. She curses how her heart jumps.

"Are you well?" Gwendolyn asks, feeling strangely out of her depth. She still smiles, though, as the rain begins to hit the top of the carriage.

"Yes." Mildred says, simply, "Are you?"

"I am, thank you." Gwendolyn swallows. She wants to tell Mildred about her morning, but she can't find the words. Uncharacteristically nervous, she shifts in her seat, adjusting her purple skirts.

"Where are we going?"

"Oh." Gwendolyn smiles, "Well, there is a tea room in my hotel, but I much prefer to visit a café. There is this _gorgeous_ little place I found when I first came to England. I could not afford it, back then."

"When was that?" Mildred asks.

"Goodness, almost a decade ago. When I first started performing I had the opportunity to visit with a group of performers, and I took it." Gwendolyn remembers those times. Less certain, still discovering her love for women. The memories are bittersweet. "I've been intermittently, since then. This is my third visit."

"Do you plan to stay for long?"

"Are you eager to rid yourself of me, Miss Ratched?" Gwendolyn teases, and delights at Mildred's shy smile. "Well, I am allowed to perform at the music hall for as long as I wish. Trevor enjoys the city, so it may be a few months before we return."

Mildred nods.

"Why do you enjoy England?" She asks, "It's gloomy. It's _always_ raining. The people crowd the streets with noise and cigar smoke. There's hardly space to breathe."

"Oh, but the country is completely charming." Gwendolyn raises an eyebrow, "As are the people."

Mildred ducks her head, embarrassed.

"Ah."

"Are you usually so critical?" Gwendolyn asks. She's curious about Mildred, about her past and her attitude and her innermost thoughts.

"I'm often told I have a... pessimistic streak."

"I would be inclined to agree." Gwendolyn chuckles. "Is there anything you _do_ like?"

Mildred pretends to consider this, her fingers stroking her chin, and Gwendolyn chuckles again. Her humour is sharp, Gwendolyn thinks, and dry. She enjoys it.

"I cannot think of a single thing."

"Music halls come to mind." Gwendolyn says.

"It depends who is performing." Mildred says.

"What do you think of _my_ performance?"

"Well," Mildred's eyes sparkle. "That would be telling."

"You go to great lengths not to compliment me." Gwendolyn laughs.

"How do you know I wish to compliment you?"

Gwendolyn leans back in her seat, considering Mildred. Pretty, amused. She's opening up just slightly.

"I just have a feeling."

"That's awfully superstitious of you." Mildred sniffs. Of course, Gwendolyn thinks fondly, the woman is a skeptic.

The horses stop and the carriage stills at last. Once again Gwendolyn lets Mildred take the lead - she brushes past Gwendolyn, against her knees, and Gwendolyn swallows a wave of longing. She follows Mildred out inside of the rain, where they quickly hold up their skirts and duck under the cover of the café.

It's small and smells like the musk of tea and coffee, comforting and warm. They are led to a table by the window, where Mildred sits carefully, her skirts tucked under her legs. Gwendolyn joins her, and it's pleasant, seeing Mildred somewhere new.

"What shall we have?" Gwendolyn asks, "Would you like an afternoon tea? I know it's early, but I've heard the afternoon tea is delightful here."

"I- Yes." Mildred bites her lip, seeming uncertain, "But I do not have the money-"

"Don't worry about that." Gwendolyn smiles, "I invited you, after all, didn't I? It is a treat."

"A treat?" Mildred smiles, "Whatever for?"

"You do not have to have a reason for pleasure." Gwendolyn says, "In fact, that's _why_ it's so delightful."

Mildred hums thoughtfully. They're quiet as they wait for the afternoon tea to be served, but it isn't an uncomfortable silence - Gwendolyn feels content, with her hands on her lap, watching Mildred take in the place. She's breathing in the smells, taking in the new colours and sounds, and Gwendolyn is fascinated by the awe on her face. She looks very young, all of a sudden.

In time, the tea and cakes and scones are placed in front of them. Mildred looks down at the arrangement curiously.

"I have never had afternoon tea." Mildred says, "I have- seen it. Doctor Hanover makes me sit with him at dinner, and often invites me to his tea room, but I am loathe to eat. I've never had this to myself, before."

Gwendolyn smiles, and holds out a small slice of lemon Victoria sponge cake for her.

"Well then," She says softly, "There's a first time for everything."

Mildred's eyes flutter shut when she takes a bite into the slice. It's sinful, the way she makes a slight noise of pleasure, and Gwendolyn watches closely. She seems to enjoy it greatly, which is the result Gwendolyn had wished for.

"How is it?" She asks. She pours tea into Mildred's small teacup, steam rising in the air between them.

"Sweet." Mildred murmurs. There are crumbs by her mouth. Gwendolyn chuckles and leans forward to brush them away with her handkerchief - _G.B_ is embroidered into it. "Oh- thank you."

Gwendolyn sits back in her chair and watches Mildred's eat, taking sips from her tea every now and again.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Mildred asks, her eyes flickering up to meet Gwendolyn's.

"It's filling enough to watch you." Gwendolyn says. "Did you say you do not eat much at the manor?"

"Well, I-" Mildred pauses, "It's more out of principle. I hate having to eat in front of Doctor Hanover. It is nice to have a choice, too, of whether to eat or not."

"That sounds dangerous for your health."

"Oh, no. I'm never hungry." Mildred's eyes brighten. "I often sneak food from the pantry."

"You do?" Gwendolyn laughs. This woman always surprises her. "Well, I am glad you're eating with me now."

"I-" Mildred blinks, seemingly shocked, as if finally realising she has given Gwendolyn a small secret. The implications of _I hate having to eat in front of him_ are not lost on Gwendolyn. After all, it also means she doesn't _mind_ eating in front of Gwendolyn. "Well, I suppose I _am_ eating with you, aren't I?"

Gwendolyn smiles, and turns to look out into the rain. She feels as if she's about to melt. This shy meeting in a café reminds her of a courtship. Is it too early to be called that? Gwendolyn wishes to court her, but Mildred would hardly agree to it. Not yet.

"Tell me, Miss Ratched." Gwendolyn takes another sip of tea. "Why did you agree to come out with me? I was under the impression you rather disliked me."

" _Dislike_ you?" Mildred swallows a bite of her sandwich quickly, "Oh, no, Miss Briggs- I will admit to you one thing, if you promise not to dwell on it."

"Alright." Gwendolyn agrees gently.

"I like you very much." Gwendolyn raises an eyebrow, and Mildred ducks her head, "That is to say, I admire you greatly. I think your performances riveting, you are extremely talented. More than that, your candour is kind and respectful. It is not often I meet people like that, in my profession."

"I can imagine." Gwendolyn smiles. There is a small blush of pink in her cheeks that matches the blush on Mildred's.

"So despite appearances, I do not _dislike_ you." Mildred gives Gwendolyn an amused smile. "I am just wary of strangers."

"Yes, I realised that." Gwendolyn chuckles, "So we are not strangers anymore?"

"Somewhat strangers, I would say."

" _Somewhat_ strangers?"

"Well, I do not have many friends. I do not consider the title lightly." Mildred shrugs, "I choose my friends carefully, you see."

"I suppose you do." Gwendolyn considers her over the rim of her teacup. "So will you go out with me again, next week?"

"I will consider it." Mildred decides, "But I cannot promise you more than that."

Gwendolyn smiles, delighted.

"What will it take to convince you of my genuine intentions?"

"You are not a patient woman, are you?" Mildred giggles. For the first time, Gwendolyn hears her _laugh._ It doesn't help the state of her heart.

"Oh, Miss Ratched," Gwendolyn's smile widens, "I'm certainly not."

*

Gwendolyn takes her back to the manor in the carriage, despite Mildred's protests.

_But I want to,_ Gwendolyn had said, with that beautiful smile on your face. The rain had still been loud on the carriage roof, and Mildred had felt full, and happy, which are feelings she does not often experience. Perhaps the delightful cafe had made her go soft, because eventually she had settled in beside Gwendolyn and they had... _talked,_ all of the way back to the manor.

She had surprised herself. Though she'd went to meet Gwendolyn expecting herself to be hard and unyielding, she had seen Gwendolyn and unravelled. She'd talked, and ate, and laughed. Mildred had not recognised her smiling reflection in the cafe mirror. But as she gets to know the woman in front of her more, Mildred changes and grows.

"Thank you for a delightful afternoon, Miss Briggs." Mildred says, when the carriage stops outside of the manor.

Gwendolyn is looking at her, with this unreadable expression on her face. It makes Mildred feel unsteady, all of a sudden, and she holds onto the edge of the seat with white knuckles.

"What is the matter?"

"Oh, nothing." Mildred sees Gwendolyn swallow. "I just noticed how the shadows in the carriage make you look so-"

Gwendolyn shakes her head quickly.

"Never mind." Gwendolyn says, and Mildred is left curious, her heart pounding in her ears. "Yes, you're welcome. It _was_ delightful, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Mildred agrees, truthfully.

"Are you sure you must go?" Gwendolyn asks, and a giggle escapes Mildred again.

"Surely my company is not so riveting."

"I disagree." Gwendolyn sighs, "But alas, you must leave me. You will meet me again, won't you, Mildred?"

Mildred waits for her to correct herself to _Miss Ratched,_ but it never comes. Mildred thought it would feel uncomfortable, but the intimacy actually makes her feel pleased, and warm. She already knows she'll be meeting Gwendolyn again.

"I already told you, I will consider it." Mildred smiles, though, "Nothing more."

"Ah, you are a menace." Gwendolyn laughs, "Well, then, go on. If nothing else I'll see you at the music hall on Saturday."

"Perhaps." Mildred says vaguely, though she knows she wouldn't miss Gwendolyn's performances for the world.

Gwendolyn laughs again.

"Now you're doing it on purpose."

"Whatever do you mean?" Feeling light as the feather on her hat, Mildred ducks as she stands and brushes past Gwendolyn's knees to step down from the carriage. Gwendolyn's footman takes her hand and Mildred thinks, suddenly, she wishes it were Gwendolyn's hand. She doesn't know what to do with the thought, so she just keeps it. "Good day, Miss Briggs."

"Goodbye, Mildred." Gwendolyn looks at her for a moment, as if memorising her face, before the door of the carriage closes and the horses begin to move again.

Mildred watches the carriage leave before turning to the manor. The rain is heavy now, and she must go back before she's soaked to the bone. Cold but strangely giddy, Mildred turns and runs through the rain, a laugh bubbling in her throat.

She stops outside of the manor, where the gardener is plucking weeds from the grass.

"Evening, Miss Ratched." The gardener says. He salutes her with his hat.

"Hello, Earl." Mildred gives him a tight smile, perhaps warmer due to her recent trip with Gwendolyn.

"You been out?" Earl asks, "That was a fancy carriage, wasn't it?"

A strange look contorts Earl's face for a moment, before he quickly schools his expression back to its usual warmth.

"Yes, I suppose it was." Mildred pauses, "Are you quite alright?"

"'Course, Miss." Earl says, smiling pleasantly. Mildred shrugs, thinking she must have imagined the look on his face. "You better get inside. Don't want you getting influenza."

"Yes, of course." Mildred agrees. She lingers by the weeds before turning and stepping into the manor, unable to shake the feeling that something is dreadfully wrong. It's an unnerving feeling after having such a pleasant day.

*

"We are back here again," Trevor laughs, jumping down from the carriage with an enthusiasm that Gwendolyn has grown to expect from him. "Are you quite delighted, Gwen?"

"Behave yourself." Gwendolyn grumbles, but she's pleased as she steps down from the carriage. It is nice to be back at Hanover manor so soon - to see Mildred again would be, Gwendolyn thinks, a pleasure. No matter how many times she sees the woman she only wants more of her. She looks up at the strange building with anticipation and joy.

"Oh, don't pretend you aren't enjoying yourself." Trevor takes her arm, leading her into the manor. "I have never seen you looking so bright."

"On the contrary, my dress is rather dull today."

"You _know_ that's not what I meant." They walk through the manor together, the butler close on their heels. "Oh, and Gwendolyn, darling, I don't think you need to be present for this meeting. I am only rejecting Doctor Hanover's offer, and if you are there you'd probably cause a fuss. Why don't you explore a little?"

He winks, and Gwendolyn lets out a long sigh.

"Cause a fuss?" She asks. "I am _respectable._ "

"Sorry. It's just to fun to tease you." They reach the office, and Trevor pats her arm. "Go on, then. Find your _Miss Ratched._ "

Well, Gwendolyn thinks, when Trevor disappears behind Doctor Hannover's office door, that's that. She turns to the butler with a smile, feeling completely pleased with herself. Even just a few minutes in Mildred's company is sure to put a little light in her day.

The children are quite young, aren't they? Gwendolyn thinks, Then might they be resting so late in the day? Perhaps she could be with Mildred alone...

"Would you lead me to Miss Ratched?"

"The governess, Ma'am?" The butler asks, surprised.

"Yes, if you please."

"Well, I-" The butler shrugs, "That governess is notoriously hard to find, in the evening. But if she's anywhere, she'll be in the library. I'll lead the way."

"Thank you." Gwendolyn says.

Gwendolyn's heart pounds as she's led through hallways and up the staircase. She thinks of Mildred, alone in the library. Will she be able to get a glimpse of Mildred, in an intimate moment, where she is just herself? The thought makes her feel warm.

"Here we are." He says, and bows in front of the door. "Call for me if you require anything."

"Thank you." Gwendolyn says.

Once the butler leaves she knocks on the library door, and when there is no reply, slips inside of the library. It is quite impressive, she thinks, though she supposes that since Hannover is a doctor he requires books for research. As she walks through the tall bookshelves her gloved fingers run over the book covers. A delightful library, she thinks. She can certainly imagine Mildred reading here.

She finds Mildred sitting by the window. She's curled in an armchair, a teacup on the windowsill, looking quite content. Mildred is beautiful, like this, secluded from the rest of the world. Eventually, Mildred's eyes flicker up to meet hers.

"Gwe- Miss Briggs?" Mildred asks, "Oh, thank goodness. I thought you were the housekeeper coming to lecture me."

"No, it's only me. Trevor has business with Doctor Hanover," Gwendolyn hovers by a bookshelf, smiling, "Am I intruding?"

"Yes." Mildred says, "But you can sit, if you wish to."

Gwendolyn nods and goes to sit beside her. She doesn't mind sitting quietly, so not to disturb Mildred. In fact, she enjoys the silence, the company, the smell of old books. It brings her joy and comfort and she is suddenly reminded of nights with Trevor that felt nothing like this. Like a.... home. Strange, Gwendolyn thinks.

Eventually she notices Mildred hasn't turned a single page since she arrived.

"What are you reading?" Gwendolyn asks gently. Mildred turns her head slightly towards her.

"Poetry." Mildred runs her finger over the page, "Keats."

"Ah." Gwendolyn says, and quotes Keats: _"A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness."_

"Oh, you know him?" Mildred's eyes light up.

"Why, of course. I love to read." Gwendolyn smiles.

"As do I." Mildred says, more animated than usual. She closes the books and leans towards Gwendolyn over the armchair, and Gwendolyn's heart flutters. "Though I do hate it when I am forced to read it aloud. Poetry should be enjoyed in private, with thought and feeling, not spoken in monotone or dramatized. It takes so much of the _passion_ away from it, don't you think?"

Gwendolyn is captivated by the way Mildred's mouth moves when she speaks, and forgets to reply.

"Miss Briggs?"

"Oh- yes, sorry." Gwendolyn's hand flutters nervously to her throat, "Then I vow never to ask you to read to me."

Mildred pauses. Realisation crosses her face.

"Actually, I do not think I would mind reading poetry aloud, if it were to you."

Gwendolyn blinks. She wasn't expecting this - neither had Mildred, going by the mortified look on her face. Gwendolyn's heartbeat stutters over itself, and then simply _stops._ The library seems to breathe with Mildred's words, every page in every book full of them.

"You-" Gwendolyn swallows, "What do you mean by that, Mildred?"

Mildred has turned a faint shade of red. She opens her mouth to reply when Trevor stumbles inside of the library and towards their chairs, looking completely bewildered.

"Gwendolyn, darling, we have to talk."

Gwendolyn's eyes linger on Mildred, who's jaw stiffened with Trevor's presence, before turning to him.

"What ever is the matter?"

"Come quickly." She had thought it might be serious, but there's a familiar amusement in Trevor's face. It can mean only one thing: _trouble._ "We have much to discuss."

"Apologies, Miss Ratched." Gwendolyn says softly. She tries to be more polite, so not to scare Mildred away after she had confessed something so beautiful to her, but she can't help but want to reach out and cover Mildred's pale hand with her own gloved hand one. With great effort, she doesn't. "It seems I must go."

Mildred just gives her a curt nod, her face tightly drawn, unreadable. But though that familiar coldness is back Gwendolyn is not pierced by it. _I do not think I would mind reading poetry aloud, if it were to you._ She has never heard anything so sweet before.

"Good evening." Gwendolyn murmurs, and turns to her meddlesome fiancé, "What is the _matter_ with you, Trevor?"

He doesn't speak until they're out of the manor.

"Oh, Gwen," Trevor says, as they walk quickly to the carriage, "You're going to like this very much."

"I'm growing tired of you. Just _tell me_ what happened."

Trevor helps her into the carriage, grinning widely.

"You should be _thanking_ me, dear," Trevor says, and throws himself into his seat. "You see, I told Richard I wasn't going to accept his offer, as we agreed. You know I want nothing to do with that damned project of his. But he was most disappointed - I think he really wants our help."

"Of course he does. You're brilliant." Gwendolyn says smugly.

"Yes, well, he insisted. He said we must reconsider, but I refused again. _Then_ he said that, why don't we stay at Hanover manor for a month or so, to see the effectiveness of the surgery for ourselves? Well, I was about to refuse this offer too, but then I realised..."

"A month or so at Hanover manor." Gwendolyn murmurs.

"Exactly! What a perfect opportunity for not just you, but me."

Gwendolyn looks at him questioningly.

"Well, Hanover is planning on inviting quite a few guests. I might be able to find myself a nice gentleman amongst the rabble."

Gwendolyn laughs, joyous.

"Indeed you might." She says, and pats Trevor's knee. "I should never have underestimated you."

It's the perfect opportunity, she thinks, to get closer to Mildred. To get to know her better. It's perfect, and Gwendolyn can hardly wait.

"I know that look," Trevor says, "You're _scheming._ "

"I am not _scheming._ " Gwendolyn sniffs, but she is. "But if we are to stay here, then I have just one request..."

*

That Saturday, at the music hall, Gwendolyn searches for Huck.

He is a sweet man - a war veteran, and now a performer. His wounds and story are put on display for both sympathy and laughter. She enjoys the man's company, though she doesn't know him well. Not yet, at least. Hopefully, this will soon change.

She eventually finds him on the balcony, and joins him there, stealing his cigar to take a drag of it.

"Miss Briggs!" Huck says, delighted. She's endeared by the brightness of his smile. You do not see genuine smiles often, in a society like this.

"Good evening, Huck." Gwendolyn smiles back, "And it's _Gwendolyn,_ how often do I have to tell you?"

"Sorry." Huck says sheepishly. He's so sweet. He deserves happiness.

"Do remember once, when we had a drink together?" She asks, "And you told me, you wished to be married, but no lady would have you?"

Huck pauses, an embarrassed flush touching his cheeks.

"Well, I-"

"Don't be embarrassed. It's quite alright." Gwendolyn sets a warm hand on his arm. "I was just going to say, I have recently been invited to an acclaimed doctor's manor, and I am informed there will be a lot of eligible young women there. How would you like to join me?"

Huck blinks.

"Oh, I couldn't-"

"I insist." Gwendolyn says warmly, but firmly, squeezing his arm. "Be brave, and come with me. No more living in the shadows, Huck."

For you and me both, Gwendolyn thinks.

"Alright." Huck sighs, "If you insist."

"It will be wonderful." Gwendolyn says, "I promise."


	7. darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is there any young lady here quite in love with me?" Gwendolyn gives a long, dramatic sigh, "Is there a fair maiden here who might take my hand?"
> 
> Then Gwendolyn turns to Mildred and smiles at her, and her stage persona seems to slip for just a moment before it rises again in a grin filled with bravado.

Mildred always wakes cold and alone.

When the sun rises the governess wakes to bright lights and a cold servants room, her bed stiff beneath her back. Her nightgown is cheap and its white colour has faded to a pale yellow, after several years. Often she wakes with the sun, naturally an early riser, and more rarely she is woken by circumstances beyond her control.

Which is what wakes her on this cold Sunday morning. A fist hammering on her door draws Mildred from a light sleep, and she rubs her eyes as she sits up. Even this early she's stiff with tension and ready to follow orders.

"Yes?" She calls, politely, but half of the word is broken by a yawn.

"Telegram for Miss Ratched." Betsy's voice spits through the wood.

"Oh, thank you. Please slip it under the door."

When no envelope appears under the door Mildred sighs.

"Miss Bucket?"

"I am not your messenger." A cold voice says, before the letter is slipped under the door, "Yet I keep running your errands. I will burn the next letter, if this continues."

Mildred's mouth twitches with amusement.

"Such a display, so early in the morning," Mildred says lightly, "How respectable."

Betsy grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like a curse before Mildred hears her retreating footsteps. Sleepy, Mildred stands and stretches, before picking up the telegram. How peculiar, she thinks. She never receives post, yet just this month she has been sent two letters!

Mildred opens the letter carefully, with delicate fingers. She doesn't have a letter opener, sharp and pretty like Doctor Hanover's. But she is just as polite and presentable as him, Mildred thinks bitterly, despite their class difference. In fact, the man tends to rip his envelopes apart and throw small bits of paper on the floor for Betsy to clean later. Hers, in comparison, had been opened with a thin, precise line.

_Mildred,_

_I must apologise for writing again. I am sorry to bother you once more. I worry I have become quite meddlesome, so please chastise me for my impropriety if these fears turn out to be justified._

_I simply write to you to deliver some news. I would prefer you heard it from myself, rather than Doctor Hanover._

_My fiance and I have been invited to stay at Hanover manor for a month or so to witness what I am told is a miracle of medicine (but which I personally believe to be an insult to humanity). Though we initially planned to reject the offer, we are not people that shy away from social occasions. I hope this news does not cause you discomfort. I assure you I did not accept it with the sole intention to take up your time._

_But I do hope this stay will deepen our friendship. I do not intend to give up on you so easily. After all, I counted more than one of your smiles when we met last week! In time I will draw many more from you. Did you mention reading poetry to me, when we met in the library that day?_

_I will see you on Saturday evening,_

_Your friend,_

_Gwen_

Mildred runs a hand over the letter. It smells of perfume, rose blush, and Mildred places it carefully in a drawer with the other letter from Gwendolyn and turns to the window. The sunrise greets her, dark oranges and reds that are almost... intense to watch.

It is impolite, she thinks, to leave a letter unanswered. After all, she had been improper in not responding to the last letter Gwendolyn sent. So with a little trepidation she sits at the small, wooden table in her room and begins to write.

_Miss Briggs,_

_Do not act coy. You know fine well that you are bothering me - and you sincerely enjoy it. Even now you continue to call us friends with a certainty that is rather baffling. I will admit, however, that your stubbornness is one of your more endearing habits, even if it is baseless. It is not as discomforting as you might think to receive a letter from you._

_To your upcoming visit I simply say this: it is a business trip. I trust you will practice propriety during your visit. If you act appropriately I will go to lunch with you once more, and that is all I will promise._

_Friendship are, as all societal relationships, made with one intention: profit. I am sorry to say I have nothing at all to give you. After all, what benefit can you gain from being friends with a poor governess who has never once been anything other than cold to you?_

_Sincerely,_

_Miss Ratched._

Perhaps, Mildred thinks, as she seals the letter, she will take a day off today. Doctor Hanover is greatly anticipating his upcoming guests, and he is in such a good mood that he's sure to give her a break if she asks for one. She might go to town and deliver her letter, take a stroll in the park, and then watch Gwendolyn perform...

Mildred pauses, and looks dubiously at the letter. Isn't it too revealing of her... fond feelings for Gwendolyn? She admits that she finds Gwendolyn endearing in some ways, and won't this sort of thing only encourage the woman? Yet... Mildred doesn't mind Gwendolyn's presence in her life. Not really. From the moment she saw the performer she-

Mildred swallows. Her feelings have not made much sense, lately. In fact they are like poetry - a series of beautiful, but vague images, that when pieced together reveal less than she would like. A beautiful rose. Sparkling eyes. A woman with a soul bolder and brighter than hers.

Well, it's too late now, Mildred thinks. Gwendolyn is staying here for a long time, so she ought to be comfortable with her sooner, rather than later.

There's no anticipation building in Mildred's chest as she begins to get dressed. Certainly not.

*

As she expected, Hanover agrees to her request readily. He was in fact planning on taking the children out for lunch and a show anyway, so Mildred is free to do whatever she wishes.

That is how she finds herself stepping out into the sunshine, early that afternoon. Mildred breathes in the fresh air. Earl had trimmed the grass that morning - the smell energizes her, and makes her feel grounded and true. She wears her same dull dress, and she walks in the same stiff way, yet anyone who saw her would notice the brightness in her cheeks, a glimmer in her eyes.

Earl is sitting on the porch, having a smoke. Perhaps, Mildred thinks, he is taking advantage of Hanover's absence. For a moment Mildred stands beside him, breathing in the smell of freshly cut grass and tobacco.

"Going out?" Earl asks, blowing out smoke. His dark hair falls over his eyes - it needs to be cut, Mildred thinks, her eyebrows furrowing. He looks awfully young, with his pale face and his hunched frame.

"Good afternoon, Earl." Mildred says, "Yes, I am."

"Huh." Earl sends her a smile. Sincere, but small. "Anywhere nice?"

"I am going to town, to deliver a letter."

"Family? Friend?" Earl's smile widens, " _Lover_?"

Caught off guard, Mildred splutters. Gwendolyn, she thinks stubbornly, is none of these.

"I do not have to answer that."

"Course you don't, miss." Earl winks at her. "You're a bit of a mystery, aren't you?"

Mildred raises her eyebrows as Earl turns the cigar so that it points in her direction.

"Smoke?" He asks.

"No, thank you." Mildred sniffs, "Do you have many duties today?"

"Nah. I'm going to sleep like, all day." Earl says, "Maybe raid the liquor cabinet."

Mildred can't tell whether he is joking or not, so she purses her lips. Earl stretches and stands, then ruffles his hair with one hand, staining his forehead with mud.

"You really should cut that hair." Mildred says, frowning disapprovingly, "Would you let me?"

"Go for it." Earl shrugs, before disappearing into the manor, but not before sending her a mock bow and a _good afternoon, ma'am._

He's an impolite young man, she thinks, and he's a little strange. But Mildred finds she likes him. He has sincerity. His honesty reminds her of Gwendolyn's, but Earl is definitely more rough around the edges. Amused from the small interaction, Mildred smiles before heading for the carriage.

It will be a pleasant day, she thinks. Mildred has packed sandwiches to eat in the park, and she plans to take a long walk by the river, to take in the sights and sounds of the city that are less audible from Hanover manor. It is not far from the city but it seems remote - the lack of a manor or even a cottage nearby makes the place seem so isolated.

It's nice, Mildred thinks when the carriage pulls into the town, to be anonymous in a large crowd. At the manor everyone knows her - she is a servant, a spectacle. Here she is no one. She's a ghost on the cobblestone. Not a governess, not even Mildred Ratched, but a woman without an anchor to tie her to the social world.

That is how the day passes, and it's as pleasant as she thought it would be. Mildred drifts from the post office to the park to the rest of the town like an invisible spectre. When evening finally falls, darkness touching the horizon and chasing away the sun, Mildred is refreshed and her mind is clear.

The smell of food and cider hits her when she shuffles inside of the music hall early. Mildred is surrounded by raucous laughter and the low lights, and she breathes it in, this fog of people, with anticipation. Months ago she came here looking for peace, and found it. Every time she comes to this place and listens to the loud, joyous music or the sad, moving tales, she feels more and more herself.

Mildred gets a seat close to the front, this Saturday. She folds her skirts beneath her, and sits primly in her seat as she stares at the closed curtains.

It's then that she hears a familiar voice from behind her. It is the women Mildred met the very first time she went to the music hall. 

"She rejected me." Mary says glumly.

"Nonsense. The woman was besotted with you last time she was in England, wasn't she?" Vic murmurs back. Mildred listens curiously.

" _I_ certainly thought so. Yet she continues to rebuff my advances. When I went backstage she said she was tired. Oh, of course I believed it at first." Mary says, "But then I received a letter just last week that said, in no certain terms, that she was planning to court someone, and thus she can't, ahem, _entertain_ me."

"To _court_ someone _?_ "

"Yes, that was my reaction. Gwen, in a _courtship._ "

Mildred blinks. What? She shakes her head. Surely she heard wrong.

"I thought she'd never want to settle down." Mary huffs.

There is a sound of rustling from behind her, like gloves being pulled from hands.

"Worry not, darling." Vic murmurs, "You still have me."

Mildred is perplexed as she tunes out of the conversation. There is no explanation for the conversation if they're referring to Gwendolyn - or none that she'd accept. And anyway, _Gwendolyn Briggs_ is engaged to be married. This _Gwen_ is surely a stranger who coincidentally shares a stage name with Gwendolyn.

So why do the implications of the discussion bother her so much?

Thankfully, the show starts before Mildred can dwell on it any longer. The sounds and laughter and loud singing from the crowd push all thoughts of the conversation from her mind. In fact, by the time the last performance arrives, Mildred is clapping, her cheeks bright red. In the bustle of the crowd her hair has come free from it's tight knot, just slightly, and dark strands fall over her face.

Mildred's flush darkens just slightly when Gwendolyn storms onto the stage. As always her confidence is all consuming. It's in the way her shoulders are thrown apart, her legs slightly apart as she stands. It's in the way she laughs, loud, and sings with a heartiness that suits her. It makes everyone smile and sing along. It makes the whole world fade away.

Sometimes Mildred thinks the whole performance might be some elaborate magic trick. Some miracle or curse that makes her feel weak and giddy. It feels every time as if she's put under a spell, unable to blink or swallow or breathe until the performance is finished and the music fades away.

"Now," Gwendolyn drawls, before the final song, making her way along the edge of the stage. She catches Mildred's eye and gives her a wink. It's brief enough that Mildred might've missed it, if her eyes weren't completely focused on the captivating, brilliant _Gwen_. "Where might my rose fall this evening?"

Gwendolyn turns comically on her heel, strutting across to the other edge of the stage. There are a few chuckles from the audience as she whips out her rose and smells it.

"Is there any young lady here quite in love with me?" Gwendolyn gives a long, dramatic sigh, "Is there a fair maiden here who might take my hand?"

Then Gwendolyn turns to Mildred and smiles at her, and her stage persona seems to slip for just a moment before it rises again in a grin filled with bravado.

"Alas," She says, holding Mildred's gaze, "The loveliest lady in the room always stays the same."

Mildred catches the rose, her eyes finally slipping away from Gwendolyn's to land on the plush, delicate rose in her hands. The thorns prick her palms. She hears her heart in her ears - had Gwendolyn's compliment been sincere, or for the benefit of the audience?

Never mind that, Mildred thinks quickly. She tucks the rose into the front pocket of her old dress as if it's a broach, and she sees Gwendolyn send her an affectionate smile before she begins her final song.

By the time the music hall is emptying and the performance is over, the conversation between Mary and Vic is far from her mind. Mildred hums to herself as she steps into the dark, cold night, the rose tucked into the front of her dress. She can smell it, fresh and sweet. A beautiful rose blush paints her cheek.

"There you are," Gwendolyn laughs, "My somewhat stranger."

Mildred turns to her, and half smiles. She forgets to curtsy. Gwendolyn is still in her stage outfit, but she isn't performing anymore - she's as soft as her usual self, smaller and sweeter, but there are still traces of _Gwen_ on her. Loud and enticing.

"Did you receive my letter, Mildred?"

"I did."

"And?" Gwendolyn laughs again. She seems so alive now, Mildred thinks, in the dark night, with droplets of sweat glinting on her long neck. "Are you dreading my visit to Hanover manor?"

"Severely." Mildred says, a smile twitching on her mouth. As always, she suppresses it.

"Yes, I expected as much." Gwendolyn sighs and leans against the wet music hall, pressing the back of her hand against her head as if she's dramatically dismayed. "You wound me so, Mildred."

"You are ridiculous." Mildred giggles. Gwendolyn catches her eye, and her gaze glints with joy.

"You did it again."

"Hm?"

"You laughed!" Gwendolyn says, "And look at you, with my rose at your breast. You are not doing a very good job at resisting me, are you?"

Mildred flushes darker than rose petals.

"Excuse me?"

"Ignore my ramblings. Performance is like drinking, and I have had a whiskey too many." Gwendolyn laughs, again and again. It's infectious, Mildred thinks. Brighter than the stars over their heads. "Oh, it's damp and cold out here. Won't you come backstage for a while, Mildred?"

"Miss Briggs, I'm not sure I-"

"Nonsense." Gwendolyn stands from the wall and brushes down her suit. "Follow me."

Mildred frowns.

"Oh, don't look at me like that! I only wish to introduce you to a good friend of mine." Gwendolyn says.

"Well-" Gwendolyn's face is imploring, and so Mildred sighs. "Alright. But only for five minutes."

"You are yielding to me quite easily, lately," Gwendolyn says smugly, as they step back into the music hall. Gwendolyn leads the way through the darkness. "Are you sure we are not friends?"

"I am certain." Mildred grumbles, as they navigate through the hall, but when Gwendolyn turns to give her a sparkling smile she softens just slightly.

Backstage is cramped and filled with people, other performers, drinking and celebrating after another successful night. Mildred feels out of place, standing stiffly in the doorway, when everyone else is as vibrant and loud as Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn pulls off her suit jacket, and the shirt is sheen, and pulled tight over her arms and chest. It's not a common look on a woman, yet it suits her so very much _._ Mildred watches Gwendolyn's reflection in the mirror, marvelling at how lovely she looks.

"Where is he?" Gwendolyn is saying. She takes a sip from a glass, moving with lightness and purpose. She is captivating in this light.

Whenever she reads Mildred has this feeling of being completely and utterly consumed. She cannot move or even blink until she is satisfied - until she has taken in the words and memorised them. It's the same feeling that she gets when she watches Gwendolyn.

In the midst of her search through the dressing room Gwendolyn's eyes catch Mildred's in the mirror. Her face changes.

They look at each other, through the glass, for a heartbeat. Another. There is a hot swooping sensation in Mildred's stomach, and she feels that the ground might give way beneath her - but it doesn't. Have I got a fever, she thinks weakly, as a tiny, shy smile flickers on Gwendolyn's face. Am I going mad, she thinks. She does not understand the way she feels, and so looks down at her shoes. They don't have an answer.

It's then that a man in the doorway clears his throat, and Mildred apologies quickly and lets him through. She recognises the man from the performances, and Gwendolyn's eyes light up when she sees him.

"There you are!" She says, delighted, and throws an arm around his shoulders. Gwendolyn pulls him into the doorway, in front of Mildred. He has warm eyes, and a kind smile, she thinks.

"Mildred, this is Huck. I trust you saw him perform tonight." Gwendolyn says, "Huck, this is my friend, Mildred Ratched."

"Acquaintance." Mildred pipes up quickly.

"Oh, are you feeling shy again?" Gwendolyn asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Or you are overstepping, Miss Briggs."

Huck looks between them curiously.

"How do you two know each other?"

"Well," Gwendolyn says, "Mildred here is Richard Hanover's governess. You are about to see a lot more of her, Huck."

"It's a pleasure." Huck holds out his hand.

If she were another woman, Mildred thinks, her heart would melt when he takes her hand and bows down to kiss the back of it. But her heart doesn't speed up, doesn't stumble over itself. For some reason she feels close to nothing, except for curiousity. It certainly doesn't come close to the confusing feelings Gwendolyn Briggs has been eliciting in her from the moment they met.

Gwendolyn is glancing at Mildred as Huck kisses her hand. Mildred raises her eyebrows at her, and Gwendolyn looks away, her jaw clenched. Huh, Mildred thinks. Why does everything between them have to be so _strange?_

"Yes, well," Gwendolyn says stiffly, "I hope you will show Huck the same warmth and good manners you have shown me, Mildred."

"I was under the impression I have shown you nothing but coldness and bad manners."

Gwendolyn's face brightens.

"She's quite the menace," Gwendolyn says to Huck, "Do not attempt to get close to her, or you will be spectacularly wounded."

"I do not show mercy." Mildred pipes up.

Huck runs a hand through his hair, grinning.

"I feel like I'm interrupting." He says. "Your relationship is a little peculiar, don't you think?"

"What relationship?" Gwendolyn says, sending Mildred a wink. "If I allowed it Mildred would insist we've never even met."

Their conversation continues like this, small talk and laughter, before the night inevitably grows darker. It isn't long before Gwendolyn goes to get changed back into a dress, and Mildred is left outside of the music hall with Huck. Cold and dark, Mildred is stiff with discomfort, as she always is. But meeting someone new isn't as unpleasant as she remembers it being.

"So, um," Huck rubs the back of his neck. He's sheepish, and shy, but clearly kind, Mildred thinks. Gwendolyn chooses the right type of people. "Miss Briggs- I mean, Gwendolyn, speaks highly of you."

"She does?"

"Oh, yes. You have no idea." Huck laughs, "According to her you are the best governess in England."

"Oh? Well, isn't that something?” Mildred giggles. "But I thought you had never heard of me?"

"It was a pretence, for her sake, of course. If you knew she'd been gushing about you in the dressing rooms it would be quite embarrassing for her." Huck gives her a glance in the dark, "She's quite shy you know. Beneath all of... that."

He waves a hand into the darkness. Mildred had never considered this. In her mind Gwendolyn is strong and bold and in control. Not... _shy._ Not without feelings. It startles her to think Gwendolyn might be as complex and real as she is.

"Do not hurt her, Mildred." Huck says suddenly, his voice harder than it had been all evening, "I will warn you only once."

Mildred swallows.

"I will not promise that." Mildred says, "And in any case, we are hardly close enough for me to be able to inflict any lasting wound on her. I assure you, you needn't worry."

"Yeah, right." Huck mumbles. She's about to question him when Gwendolyn emerges in her dress, still as beautiful as ever, glowing under the moonlight.

"Better be off." Huck bows, "See you soon, ladies."

They say their farewells. Soon it's only Gwendolyn and Mildred, outside in the darkness in front of the music hall. We always end up here, Mildred thinks. The night is clear - no rain, though the cobblestones are damp with the earlier downpours.

"So," Mildred says, "I am the best governess in England?"

Gwendolyn pauses. She shifts uncomfortably as the words sink in.

"Huck." She hisses. "Well, in any case, I am right. My stay at Hanover manor will only prove it."

"You consider me so highly," Mildred says quietly, suddenly moved, "Yet I have done nothing for you."

Gwendolyn smiles, still embarrassed. The sudden shyness on her face is rather endearing, Mildred thinks. Maybe Huck was right. Might she be a little kinder to Gwendolyn, and consider her feelings more?

"That's what friendship is, isn't it?" Gwendolyn says gently, "And anyway, you’re one to talk. When we went for lunch you gave me a _dazzling_ string of compliments. Really, it was quite moving."

"I did no such thing."

"Sure." Gwendolyn says. She looks at Mildred under the moonlight, and gives her a smile. "Your carriage has been waiting for over an hour, darling."

_Darling._ Gwendolyn has never called her such a thing before. Warmth blooms in Mildred's chest, like the flower in her pocket.

"Y-Yes." Mildred takes a breath, looking up at Gwendolyn under the stars, "Yes, I suppose it has."

"Must you leave again?" Gwendolyn asks.

The silence says more than Mildred is comfortable with. She longs to step backwards, but she can't move out of their shared shadow.

Gwendolyn reaches forward and tucks a stray lock of hair behind Mildred's ear.

"I am afraid of you, Mildred." Gwendolyn murmurs, her face sobering.

"You're afraid?" Mildred blinks, "Of me?"

Another beat of silence. Then Gwendolyn gives the governess a bright smile that Mildred suspects is forced, though she doesn't understand why.

"Nevermind that." She says, "Hurry and leave, before the rain starts."

It will not rain, Mildred wants to say. She doesn't.

"Good evening, Miss Briggs." She says, and gives a small bow that Gwendolyn returns with a tilt of her head. She feels eyes on her as she crosses the street and climbs into her carriage.

There is an air of melancholy in the carriage when Mildred is alone in the dark. It's irrational, she thinks, because she will be seeing Gwendolyn every day soon. Yet it does not leave. It stays in the shadows. She pulls out the rose, lays it across her lap, and wonders.

*

If there is one thing the children hate, it's arithmetic.

Mildred is often able to lure them into any subject with sweet talking, but it's mathematics they despise more than anything - they complain and throw tantrums and the pulse on Mildred's throat becomes more and more visible. Today is no better. The newspapers had promised snow, and this, coupled with the arrival of several of Hanover's guests today, has made them even more restless and excited than usual.

Edward is singing a Christmas carol again. The room is filled with the high, pretty sound that has become irritating after the thirteenth repetition of the same song.

"Are you quite finished?" Mildred asks sharply. He gives her an innocent look that she suspects he thinks will make her soften. And oh, alright, it is a little bit cute-

No! She thinks.

"I know you are excited," She says, "But statistics stay constant whether there are guests or not."

"Will Gwen be here today?" Elizabeth asks, smiling dreamily.

"That is _Miss Briggs,_ to you, Elizabeth."

"Will she? Will she?" Edward says.

The boy hasn't even _met_ her, Mildred thinks, pinching the end of her nose. These children are going to be a nightmare when the guests are here. She is already dreading it.

But now and again, her eyes drift to the windows, or her ears listen for the tell tale rumble of carriage wheels...

Enough, Mildred tells herself. She is as silly as the children.

Thus she's almost grateful when a carriage pulls up outside. Wheels squeal on the gravel, and Mildred's heart jumps. It might not even be Gwendolyn, Mildred thinks rationally. But if there is one lesson she has learned in the past weeks, it is that feelings are never rational.

Elizabeth and Edward run to the window, shouting, their breaths fogging up the glass. Mildred steps behind them, watching the scene curiously. Gwendolyn, Trevor, and Huck exit the carriage, and bow to the henchman. They are unreal under the winter sky, she thinks. How can they be staying here, near Mildred? Will she see Gwendolyn in the morning, on evenings, in the library?

The three are interrupted by a voice in the doorway.

"The first guests are arrive. Shall we greet them?" Doctor Hanover asks. The children nod and run to the front doors, where the butler will be waiting to pull on the coats. "Oh! Miss Ratched, may I speak to you for a moment?"

Mildred nods and steps into the corridor with him.

"Lately, I have noticed something quite odd." Hanover says, walking in time with her, "I went to pour myself a glass of brandy last night and the bottle was... emptier than I remember. I thought I may have just been tired, this is not an isolated incident. Several other bottles have been tampered with."

Mildred listens. Her heart sinks when she realises Earl's threat had been literal. Oh dear, she thinks. They have quite the rebel on their hands.

"Of course, I do not suspect you played a part in this. But might you have any idea who could be the culprit?"

Mildred has a decision to make. To sell out the gardener, or to protect him, she thinks. She looks down into Hanover's small, smiling face and feels a sense of righteousness. A wave of resentment for him and every man like him who has made her feel useless and weak washes over her.

"I do not." She says.

It is the first time she lies for the gardener, but it won't be the last.

"I just hope the children didn't get into the cabinet." Hanover sighs, "Well, it can't be helped. Thank you anyway, Miss Ratched."

Mildred smiles to herself. She feels strong and rebellious as she steps out into the cold morning. She wonders if this is how Gwendolyn feels on stage as Gwen - like she is on top of the world, light as a feather. Mildred is steady with strength as she steps down onto the gravel to stand in front of the manor and greet their guests.

Gwendolyn wears a dusty pink dress, puffed up around the shoulders. She looks pleased with herself, and Mildred watches curiously as she interacts with Hanover. Even in the company of people of her status, Mildred thinks, Gwendolyn is herself. It’s aweing.

Then come the introductions. Trevor comes first, along the line of servants and children standing outside of the manor. When he reaches Mildred, she takes his hand, but cannot meet his eyes. For a reason she doesn’t know, she stares at his polished shoes.

“I’ve heard much about you, Miss Ratched.” Trevor says warmly. “I apologise for my conduct last time we met. I promise I’m not impolite.”

“You are forgiven.” Mildred says stiffly, and he moves on to Betsy, who’s standing beside her. She’s bouncing up and down with anticipation. She’s as excited about the guests as the children are, Mildred thinks, amused.

Gwendolyn is next. She takes Mildred’s hand with two of her own.

“I got your letter.” She murmurs, “Must you tease me so?”

“Good afternoon, Miss Briggs.”

“Hello, Mildred.” Gwendolyn holds her hand for a moment longer, her eyes flickering over Mildred’s form, before she moves on.

What greets them this month, Mildred thinks. Will Gwendolyn tear down her walls for good? Mildred fears she will not be able to fight the feelings inside of herself for very long, whatever they are. 

As she stands with her hand tingling beneath a cold sun, Mildred feels there is a storm on the horizon. It’s in the air, biting at her skin. It is coming, and soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slow and steady wins the race? :) 
> 
> honestly I feel like mildred rejecting gwendolyn has become their way of flirting ?? I feel like a third wheel ?? heLP
> 
> in true mildolyn fashion, it gets better, then worse, then it will get better and worse and then better again and then worse- well, you know what I mean.


	8. nourishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you disapprove of my manner, Mildred?"
> 
> Mildred raises an eyebrow, but her eyes are full of stars. A whole universe, Gwendolyn thinks, a space that Gwendolyn can't reach.
> 
> "Indeed I do, Miss Briggs." She murmurs, and Gwendolyn wishes she could lay her hand over Mildred's, but not here. And not now, when Mildred is still galaxies away. "You are hardly the pinnacle of politeness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again! <3 I made a playlist for the fic with songs i thought fit the mood of the story! if you want to check it out, here's the link  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/27BbP1iVKA7aOe6g63CSvM?si=feyyE4J0Rxiv6SvH-8uG0w

Gwendolyn has learned to thrive in the social world.

She toes the line between _respectable_ and _disrespectful, refined_ and _bold._ With social events comes a certain pressure to act 'sensible', and though Gwendolyn always prefers to be completely herself, she must adopt a facade to make sure social occasions run smoothly. Only Trevor could notice it. How she laughs a little quieter, stands with her feet together and her arms relaxed, talks with a tone that's just a little lighter.

This is how she behaves in Richard Hanover's drawing room. As the afternoon passes Gwendolyn fits into the role she knows she has to. She introduces herself to the rich, the successful, as if she's one of them, while knowing deep down they are from two different worlds. Yes, she looks like them, acts like them, dresses like them. But she doesn't belong here.

Mildred has been busy making sure the children behave sensibly. Gwendolyn can only glance at her from the corner of the room, wishing she were able to escape like that. Her arm is in Trevor's, and though she is comfortable around him, right now his touch feels stifling and wrong. She would love to have a little freedom, beside the window, laughing with the children and Mildred rather than mingling like she's supposed to.

"And oh, those _curtains,"_ Lenore Osgood is laughing. Trevor is hanging on her every word, and Huck seems interested in what she has to say, but Gwendolyn tuned her out quite a while ago. "I've never seen anything quite so dreadful."

Ms Osgood is perhaps the most high profile guest in the room - after the death of her husband, the widow inherited a large estate and has been living quite comfortably in control of the estate's finances ever since. Her son, while slightly peculiar, is well loved for his manners and charm. But Gwendolyn has heard the rumours from Trevor. It is said that Lenore murdered her husband to snatch his fortune. It is also said that Lenore had an affair with Richard Hanover. Gwendolyn dislikes 'scandal', but even _she_ suspects these rumours are true.

"Why exactly is she here, at a gathering for doctors?" Gwendolyn hisses to Trevor, when Lenore turns to greet another woman.

"Her husband studied medicine," Trevor whispers, "I think she's taken it upon herself to take over his role."

"Admirable." Huck pipes up.

Gwendolyn quirks a smile. She quite likes that idea. It is _brilliant_ when women take matters into their own hands.

"So," She murmurs to Trevor, "Who else is here?"

"Well, there are the Knight family." Trevor says.

"Oh, yes." Gwendolyn spots their youngest daughter, Dolly, from across the room. She has talked to her often since coming to London. The girl is as all girls should be - unrestrained, and happy. "I rather enjoy their company."

"I'm sure that young woman has been to one of our shows." Huck says curiously.

"I wouldn't be surprised." Trevor laughs. "Then there are our dearest friends, the Wells'."

Ah, Gwendolyn thinks. Charlotte Wells is a warm and respectable woman who seems quite close to her husband. They met the first time Gwendolyn and Trevor came to England. They have no children, but they are well loved in the community. It is said that Charlotte wishes to be a nurse, and since her husband is a Doctor who, much like Hanover, owns a practice, she helps there on occasion.

"And the Wainwrights." Trevor continues.

Ah, yes. Gwendolyn spots the Wainwrights' eldest son, Charles, across the room. He is the community's most eligible bachelor, despite his lack of hair - and he is, or so the rumours say, guilty of having his way with the town's young women.

Trevor continues to detail which families are in attendance, while Gwendolyn listens with faint curiosity. She studies the drawing room in the meantime, delighting mostly in the view of the country from the window. Though the manor is not far from the city, the greenery surrounding it is rather lovely. And the gardener seems to be finally tending to the overgrowing bushes and wild flowers, making the garden seem neater, prettier.

"Good afternoon," Gwendolyn hears Charlotte's soft voice say from in front of them. The two families bow to each other. "I'm so delighted to see you again."

Gwendolyn smiles at Charlotte as the men begin to talk.

"Are you looking forward to studying Doctor Hanover's medicine?" She murmurs to Charlotte. Charlotte gives her a delighted smile.

"Oh, I truly am. I have been studying my husband's books and assisting at his practice every now and again, but to see a miracle of medicine first hand..." Charlotte's face seems awed. Though Gwendolyn could never agree with the awful _project_ Hanover plans to share with them, she marvels at Charlotte's passion for her work. She feels a similar love for her own, after all.

"I do hope this stay is enriching for you, then." Gwendolyn says warmly, and rests a hand on Charlotte's arm.

"Yes, as do I. Although, I keep thinking that this manor is rather peculiarly decorated, isn't it?" Charlotte chuckles, "And the people here are rather strange."

"Given the... volatile characters in this room, I expect there will be a scandal while we are here." Gwendolyn warns, "When it erupts we must hide away with a book."

"Oh, yes, there would be nothing more pleasant." Charlotte says, "On the topic of scandals, when _do_ you plan to marry, Gwendolyn? I wish to take the trip to America to witness the ceremony. It would be a shame to miss it."

Gwendolyn pauses. Often she forgets that her engagement is real - that people expect it from her. Then she is reminded of it.

"I'm sure it won't be long. I wouldn't let you miss it, Charlotte."

"Yes, well, I suppose love is patient." Charlotte says. "I'm sure you do not mind the wait."

The statement startles Gwendolyn. She knows Charlotte is the type to marry for love - which is not common, in polite society. But Gwendolyn has become a part of this arrangement with Trevor not because she loves him, but because it is _convenient._ She frowns. Often she thinks she would quite like to call off the engagement or simply disappear from the social world forever. Charlotte's love for her husband is a stark reminder of the things Gwendolyn can never have.

"Indeed." Gwendolyn says quietly. When she smiles it doesn't reach her eyes.

Sometimes she can pretend easily that her heart isn't drawn towards the fairer sex. Other times, it is torture.

Thankfully, she is drawn from the conversation by the sight of Mildred being... herself. The children are attempting to dance to the music and she is clearly lecturing them, yet Gwendolyn is sure she can see a hint of a rare smile on Mildred's face. It encourages her. She will survive her stay at Hanover manor because of the delightful company she'll keep with a certain governess.

A bell tinkles.

"It's time for dinner." Charlotte says, looking pleased. Gwendolyn nods and her eyes flicker to Mildred. Didn't she say she is forced to eat with the Hanover family? She hopes they may sit together. It will be a lovely welcome to her stay, pleasant and entertaining company at a dining table to help her make it through their first night here.

As the crowd exits the drawing room Charlotte pulls on Trevor's arm so that they end up walking behind Mildred and the children. She is holding onto their sleeves, reminded the two children of the proper dining etiquette.

"What delightful company Richard Hanover keeps." Gwendolyn murmurs in her ear. Mildred turns her head over her shoulder to raise an eyebrow at her.

"The worst is yet to come, Miss Briggs." She says gravely, and Gwendolyn can't help but let out a light chuckle.

In the dining room they are seated at a long table. The room is lit with candles. Gwendolyn sits opposite Trevor and Huck close to the head of the table, and Mildred sits herself beside Gwendolyn with the children, as the children must be beside Hanover. Gwendolyn smiles to herself, pleased. It had worked out exactly how she hoped it would. Though she is close to the head of the table and the more insufferable guests, she will not be uncomfortable if she has Mildred there to tease.

Richard Hanover taps his spoon on a glass, drawing the chattering tables attention.

"Thank you, guests, for joining me at the table." He begins his speech, his voice low, gravelly, and practiced, Gwendolyn thinks, amused. Did he rehearse this in front of the mirror? "I am delighted to welcome you to the manor. All of us here are men of medicine, of _progress,_ and we are here to celebrate a miracle."

There are few claps, and Hanover gives a slight smile when he hears them.

"While this will be a month of study and research, do not fret - there will be quite enough time for socialising." Hanover says, "Perhaps another ball is on the cards?"

One of the children, the boy, lets out a cheer, and Mildred whispers in his ear to _please_ be quiet, just for a moment.

"That being said, I do hope you enjoy your dinner." Hanover waves a hand towards Louise, who is hovering with a smile at the end of the table with a tray full of what Gwendolyn assumes will be their starter. "Send your compliments to the chef, and here is to progress."

The table raise their glasses, except for Gwendolyn, who refuses to encourage excitement about whatever Hanover's _project_ is supposed to be achieving. Instead she turns to look at Mildred, who only looks tired, and who's face seems to contort with dread when her first course is placed in front of her at the table.

"That was quite the speech." Gwendolyn murmurs to Mildred, who turns to her.

"Well, Doctor Hanover is quite the gentlemen."

"Yes, indeed. Tell me, have you noticed that he has buttoned his shirt up wrong?"

Mildred glances at her employer and lets out a sudden giggle, which she covers with her hand. Gwendolyn smiles to herself. Already she feels less like this stay is a mistake, and more like it will be just _lovely._

"Already you are causing trouble, Miss Briggs." Mildred scolds. "Behave yourself."

"And yet you seem to enjoy it." Gwendolyn says, her eyes flickering over Mildred's candlelit face. Her hair is tightly knotted as always, and her dress just as bland. She is still beautiful as ever.

The soup in front of them is a Vermicelli soup, prepared with tomatoes, onion and garlic. It's a safe choice, Gwendolyn thinks, taking a spoonful of it. Across the table Trevor, Doctor Hanover and Huck are talking and eating. Mildred, however, does not lift her spoon or try the soup. She fusses over the children, making sure they don't spill food on their clothes.

"So you were serious, when you said you do not eat in Doctor Hanover's company?" Gwendolyn asks quietly.

"I am almost always serious." Mildred murmurs.

"I heard an _almost._ " Gwendolyn smiles, and takes care to keep her voice quiet, so not to alert Hanover of their conversation, "Anyway, you are not eating with him, Mildred _._ Tonight, you're eating with me."

Mildred pauses and glances at her out of the corner of her eye. Her eyes reflect the candlelight, and she is so lovely, Gwendolyn thinks, she just can't be real.

"Quick," Gwendolyn says, "While he is not looking, try the soup, I implore you. It's delightful."

Mildred bites her lip, considering. Gwendolyn is amused when the other woman's stomach makes a small rumble.

"Oh, alright." She finally sighs. Gwendolyn watches as she takes a spoonful of soup into her mouth, her sweet pink lips covering the tip of the spoon. Mildred closes her eyes, and swallows, and Gwendolyn feels a stab of warm arousal that she resolutely ignores.

"Isn't it lovely?" Gwendolyn asks softly. Mildred's mouth is stained with soup and she dabs it away with a handkerchief.

"Quite." Mildred admits.

Their peaceful conversation is broken by Trevor, who turns to them with his joyous smile.

"So, Miss Ratched," He begins, around a mouthful of soup, "It is not often I have the pleasure of meeting a governess at the table."

Gwendolyn smiles to herself affectionately. Trevor has always been slightly tactless.

"We need her here to take care of these devil children," Hanover says, "And in any case, Miss Ratched is most pleasant company."

Indeed, Gwendolyn thinks, her eyes flickering to Mildred's pretty fingers wrapped around her spoon.

"Tell me, why did you decide to take up this work?" Trevor asks. He has always been curious - he enjoys the company of others, and he also enjoys knowing about the people he keeps company with. Gwendolyn braces herself for his interrogation of Mildred. She is quite sure it will be Trevor who comes out of it feeling exposed. "Surely finding an eligible bachelor to marry would've been a much easier course. There you would have comfort, and financial security."

Mildred's jaw tightens.

"It may be surprising, sir, but a woman can live without a man." She says sharply. Perhaps her own impoliteness surprises her, because she pales and her blazing eyes flicker away from Trevor's. "My work is beneficial, and it gives me a degree of independence. I would not replace it with marriage."

Trevor seems pleasantly surprised.

"What a curious young woman you are." He says.

"Yes," Mildred says stiffly, "I have been told that is the case."

"Tell me... Huck, was it?" Hanover says to Huck. Huck chokes, perhaps surprised at being addressed by the head of the household. "Tell me, what is your position?"

"I-I'm a performer, sir."

"Oh, that's delightful. It's always entertaining to meet..." Hanover smiles condescendingly, " _Artists._ "

The more time she spends with this man, the more Gwendolyn dislikes him.

"And forgive me for my forwardness," Hanover continues, though he does not look apologetic in the slightest, "But where _did_ you get this hideous scar?"

Gwendolyn clenches her fists on her lap, while Huck continues smiling with good grace. Perhaps he is used to the pointed questions and stares but Gwendolyn is not, and she wishes to protect her friends.

"You are impolite, Doctor Hanover." She says, through gritted teeth.

"Oh, nonsense," Hanover laughs, "I simply wish to get to know the boy better. Well, Huck?"

"In battle, sir."

"Oh, we have a war veteran on our hands!" Hanover claps his shoulder. How much champagne had this man drunk, Gwendolyn thinks, torn between fury and amusement. "Thank you for your service. It must have been quite a battle."

"Is he always like this?" Gwendolyn murmurs to Mildred, who's eyes seem far away. Their is a pause as their empty bowls, the edges stained with soup, are taken from the table. "If so, then you are a most admirable governess."

"Do behave yourself." Mildred says back, but there it is, that tiny smile, so utterly captivating.

"Do you disapprove of my manner, Mildred?"

Mildred raises an eyebrow, and her eyes are full of stars. A whole universe, Gwendolyn thinks, but it is a space that Gwendolyn can't reach.

"Indeed I do, Miss Briggs." She murmurs, and Gwendolyn wishes she could lay her hand over Mildred's, but not here. And not now, when Mildred is still galaxies away. "You are hardly the pinnacle of politeness."

"Well, you may be right." Gwendolyn chuckles, "What should be done about that?"

Mildred eyes twinkle.

"I don't think anything can be done." She says solemnly, "You cannot be rehabilitated."

Gwendolyn nudges Mildred, smiling brightly.

"Quite right."

Once again they are interrupted, this time by a second course of common seafoods being placed in front of them and... oh, Gwendolyn thinks delighted, _oysters._

"You look pleased, Miss Briggs." Hanover says happily, "Yes, though they are a rarity, I took the liberty of preparing oysters for today."

"I do love this dish." Gwendolyn sighs happily, "Have you had oysters before, Mildred?"

"Ah- I'm afraid I haven't." Mildred stares down at her plate, "I'm not very familiar with seafood."

"Oh! But you must try them." Gwendolyn gushes. She does love this sort of food. It is like making love to the ocean, so fresh and salty and delicate. "Shall I demonstrate?"

Mildred glances at her.

"Demonstrate?"

"Yes, let me show you." She takes an oyster. "We spoke of pleasure before, didn't we? There is no greater pleasure than this. Watch."

Mildred watches her, so Gwendolyn holds the oyster delicately between her fingers.

"Now Doctor Hanover has prepared the most rudimentary sauce," Gwendolyn murmurs to Mildred, "But it is no matter. Apply it moderately, loosen the oyster from its shell, and it will taste just as lovely."

Mildred nods. Sometimes, when she is curious, she will lean in and her eyes will be focused and sharp, and she reminds Gwendolyn of a inquisitive cat.

"Here we are." She murmurs, once she's applied the sauce and loosened the oyster from its shell. "Now you just slip it into your mouth, like so."

When she slides the oyster between her lips it tastes like the sea, like visits to the coast and the long boat journey from America to England. She closes her eyes and enjoys the taste, the textures, and hums a little with delight.

Once she is finished Gwendolyn places the empty shell of her plate and is surprised that Mildred is still staring at her. With the pinkest cheeks, and the widest eyes, and her throat trembling as she swallows. Gwendolyn feels rather flushed, under a stare like that.

"Mildred?" She asks quietly, "Is something the matter?"

Mildred blinks.

"You rather forgot yourself for a moment, there." Gwendolyn murmurs.

Mildred clears her throat .

"Ah, apologies. The food has made me rather tired." Mildred says, and Gwendolyn gives her a crooked smile.

"It is impolite to fall asleep at the table, you know."

"I do not plan on doing so, I assure you." Mildred smiles weakly.

"A shame." Gwendolyn sighs, "It is always I who must be the impolite one."

This is how several more courses pass - with delightful conversation and food. While the rest of the table are caught in their polite world Mildred and Gwendolyn seem to form their own, speaking quietly. And oh, of course Mildred is still restrained, but Gwendolyn feels like she is pulling the governess out of her shell, a little at a time, and she anticipates greatly what she will uncover.

The evening passes quickly and before long, it ends with a sweet cake for dessert. Afterwards the crowd rise from the table, and Hanover announces there will be coffee and cigars in the drawing room, if they are so inclined. Several families retire for bed, but Gwendolyn stays up. She is hardly tired, and she hopes Mildred will be there.

Yet when Gwendolyn and Trevor enter the drawing room Mildred is nowhere to be found. Neither, curiously, is Doctor Hanover. Gwendolyn and Trevor sit themselves on a sofa, and sip on coffee. Gwendolyn, after several of Lenore Osgood's stories, begins to wish she had went to bed after all.

It is only moments later before Mildred slips inside again, accompanied by Doctor Hanover.

"Apologies for the delay." Hanover says, "Miss Ratched is always inclined to avoid social occasions, like a recluse."

"You are rather fond of your governess, Richard." Lenore says. Hanover smiles at her.

"Well, I thought she might read to us. She is a delightful speaker," Hanover says, "And it _is_ a lovely night for it, is it not?"

Mildred grimaces. Gwendolyn knows how she likes reading aloud, _especially_ when it is to Richard Hanover. She recalls warmly that day they met in the library and Mildred said she wouldn't mind reading to Gwendolyn. So when the pair step near her, she takes Mildred's wrist between her fingers.

_Read only to me,_ she mouths. Mildred blinks, and then gives the shortest nod, following Hanover to his chair. He forces her to stand behind it, with a favourite of his. Of course, Gwendolyn thinks amused, he is making her read _Dante_.

How humiliating it must be, Gwendolyn thinks, to be paraded in front of people and forced to perform. Even now she can hear people murmuring about Hanover's good character, and how well he treats his employees. It is all for show. He is fond of Mildred as a banker is fond of his money.

Gwendolyn watches with her hands warm from holding coffee. Her breath is taken by how Mildred's eyes shine, lit by the low lamps. She stands so delicately under the moonlight - her hands hold the book lightly, and her posture is one of grace. But this is not what Gwendolyn finds so gorgeous about her. It is her bravery. It is how she puts on a polite mask, and begins to read.

The poem is long and romantic and Mildred's voice is clear as the night sky. Gwendolyn leans back in her chair. And as Mildred reads, she reads only to Gwendolyn, just as Gwendolyn requested. She hopes it makes her feel more comfortable, less like she's an actress in a role and more like she's reading comfortably to a friend.

And then come the lines that make Gwendolyn's heart stutter when Mildred reads them, to her. She knows Mildred is not making a confession. Gwendolyn _knows_ this is not the romantic moment she wishes it was. But as Mildred reads such gorgeous poetry Gwendolyn can imagine, secretly, that Mildred is aiming these lines at her.

_“He woke her then, and trembling and obedient, she ate that burning heart out of his hand. Weeping, I saw him then depart from me. Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her? Find nourishment in the very sight of her? I think so. But would she see through the bars of his plight, and ache for him?”_

Ache, ache, ache. This is what Gwendolyn has felt since seeing those haunting eyes in a crowd full of people. Yet she is never nourished, she is never fed - she stays with her stab of hunger, waiting as the sun waits for the moon.

Later, when they retire for bed, it is Mildred who grabs Gwendolyn's wrist as the crowd makes their way out of the drawing room. She pulls away from Gwendolyn quickly, but Gwendolyn had felt their connection beneath her glove, Mildred's hand fitting perfectly over her arm.

"Thank you, Miss Briggs." She says, with a sincere smile. "Most days I feel like I am suffocating. Tonight I felt.."

Mildred lifts her shoulder in a slight shrug.

"What else are friends for, if not relief?" Gwendolyn asks softly. She does not reach for Mildred, though she wants to - she can't betray her trust now, when they are finally becoming friends.

Mildred does not deny it. She just stands, for a moment, under the moon. Then she bows.

"Goodnight, Miss Briggs." She says warmly, and then passes by, disappearing into the manor.

Trevor is waiting for her by the door of the drawing room.

"You look winded." He says. His voice is less teasing than usual - he is simply stating a fact.

Gwendolyn presses a hand to her chest. She can't feel it beat under the layers of her chest, but goodness, it is.

"I feel it." She says.

*

"How on earth have you let it grow out so long?” Mildred scolds.

Later that evening, when the moon is in the sky, she has taken Ear into her bedroom, where he sits on her rickety brown chair. She combs his hair with amusement - it’s long and knotted, and it is so far from fashionable that it humours her.

Earl sits patiently, though he swings his legs back and forth on the chair.

"I'm a gardener, Miss," He says, "Not a barber."

"You act like neither." She says, combing through the knots. He hisses when she combs through a particularly stubborn one.

"I'm quite new to the business, you see."

"Oh?" Mildred blinks, "But Doctor Hanover said you were experienced."

"Well, that is what the advertisement said." Earl laughs at a joke only he knows.

Once his wet hair is combed she measures a section of it, the parts she will cut.

"I suppose you are quite young," Mildred murmurs. She grabs the scissors from her bedside and places them above her finger, where she wishes to snip his hair. "You can't be older than twenty five."

"Young and fresh." Earl chuckles. "Isn't it impolite to guess a gentleman's age?"

"I wouldn't go as far as to call you a gentleman." Mildred says. Tufts of hair fall onto the floor as she cuts it. "It was you who stole from Doctor Hanover's liqueur cabinet, wasn't it? That's hardly polite."

"Quite the detective, aren't you Miss?" Earl laughs. He seems unconcerned. She tugs at his dark hair, unsure whether she feels irritation, amusement or affection towards him. Mildred decides it's a mix of the three.

"It was quite obvious." Mildred laughs too, "You did tell me you were going to do it."

"People tend not to take my threats seriously."

"Perhaps we should." Mildred trims higher, and smooths away the stray hairs on his shoulders with her hands. "I have a bad feeling about you."

"Young ladies tend to like a bad boy." Earl says, "But not you. I can tell. Tell me, why didn't you snitch on me to the boss?"

Mildred doesn't know the answer herself. A childish, rebellious spirit has began to rise in her from her youth, lately. Hadn't she snuck out to the music hall, over and over? Didn't she cause mischief with Gwendolyn? Hadn't she protect this rouge gardener from punishment?

"I am not in the habit of making enemies."

"Not in the habit of making friends, either, are you?" Earl laughs. "You don't seem to make a lot of relationships, Miss."

"Social relationships are pointless, and simply a pretence made for personal gain."

"Not when it's Gwendolyn Briggs though, eh?" Earl says, and Mildred ignores that comment pointedly.

His hair is finished. Mildred admires her handiwork, and takes the apron covered in hair from around the shoulders. Once she's finished Earl takes a flask from the inside of his gardening clothes, and takes a long swig of it. Despite herself, Mildred is drawn to his rebellious spirit, just like Gwendolyn's. If she is close to this sort of person, perhaps she'll become braver.

"Want some?" Earl drawls.

"Is that Doctor Hanover's?"

Earl rolls his eyes, as if to say, _obviously._

"It's good." Earl says, still holding it out to her.

"I don't know if I should-"

"Come _on_ ," Earl says, "It'll be our secret."

So, yes, feeling that same rebellious fire inside of her, Mildred takes the flask from him, and swallows a long gulp. The alcohol burns her throat and she giggles, because the sensation is more pleasant than uncomfortable. Her heart is racing with adrenaline.

"Hey, Miss." Earl says, "Since you kept one of my secrets, I'll tell you another."

He leans towards her in the dark.

"I'm not Earl," He says, a dangerous laugh in his voice, "And I'm not a gardener."

Rather than being scared, Mildred is curious.

"Then who are you?"

Earl winks, tucking his flask back into his pocket.

"You'll find out soon enough."

*

In the cold morning, Mildred just... thinks.

She is already dressed, in her usual outfit. She sits on a window sill in one of the corridors, staring out at the pale sky. It is too early for anyone to be awake. Here in the peaceful silence she can think, for the first time in a while, without interruption. In her lap is an old and faded journal, that she received at the orphanage so many years ago.

In it she has written lines of poetry, snippets of diary entries, or has sketched whatever is on her mind. Now she is sketching a rose, as pretty and real as the ones Gwendolyn had thrown her. While she does she's thinking of strange things.

There is the gardener, who's identity is a mystery. He is clearly not who he seems - so what are his intentions? Who exactly is he?

There is Hanover's project, which she hardly knows anything about. She means to ask Gwendolyn about it. She's curious about medicine.

Then there is Gwendolyn herself. This is a topic Mildred finds herself stuck on, more often than not. There is much she thinks about. How to stop Gwendolyn getting so close to her. How to bring Gwendolyn closer to her. How to understand the feelings inside of her.

"Mildred?"

Mildred looks up. As if summoned by her thoughts, Gwendolyn is standing in front of her in a long dress, a cardigan wrapped around her shoulders and a hat pulled over her head. So this is how she looks in the morning, Mildred thinks. Tired and pale under the lights, but still as lovely

How often had Mildred been having thoughts like this? Is it okay to look at Gwendolyn, and find her exquisite? At the dinner table the night before she had watched Gwendolyn eat an oyster and had felt the most peculiar- the most-

"Good morning, Miss Briggs." Mildred says, closing her journal quickly, and simultaneously shutting down her rapid thoughts.

Gwendolyn seems delighted to see her. There's a smile around her eyes.

"I was just going out for a walk," Gwendolyn says, "Would you like to join me?"

Why not, Mildred thinks recklessly. She enjoys the cold air in the morning. And if she is yielding to Gwendolyn much easier, these days, then that is of little consequence. It is just a walk - it admits nothing. So Mildred stands and smooths down her dress.

"Shall we?" Gwendolyn says, holding out her arm.

Mildred stares at it for a moment. She feels a jolt in her heart, like it's awaking with the morning sun. What is happening to me, she thinks desperately, wishing she could take these feelings from inside of her chest and set them alight, and thus be done with them.

Slowly, Mildred places her arm within Gwendolyn's. The feeling is surprisingly comfortable. As they step out of the manor it is a point of warmth against the cold air, and Mildred feels flushed, strange, out of sorts. She has never been this close to Gwendolyn before.

"Did Doctor Hanover acquire a gardener, lately?" Gwendolyn asks curiously, her breath coming out as white wisps in the cold air, "The garden seems much tidier."

"Yes." Mildred murmurs. "He's an interesting character."

They walk around the manor, arm in arm. It is common for women to walk like this, Mildred thinks, yet she feels nervous and unsettled. She feels as if a bird, about to take flight for the first time.

"You are quiet, in the morning." Mildred observes quietly.

"I am?"

"Mhm. Your air is sort of... subdued." Mildred says.

"And you are surprisingly talkative as the sun rises." Gwendolyn says warmly. "What a pair we are."

Another peaceful silence, as they walk, their dresses swishing around their ankles.

"Did you like the poem, last night?" Mildred asks.

"It was delightful." Gwendolyn says, "Though I can't say the same for Doctor Hanover's commentaries."

Mildred's mouth twitches into a smile, against her will.

"He has many thoughts, on literature." Mildred says, "How many are substantial, I will leave you to decide."

Mildred isn't sure why she delights in Gwendolyn's chuckle. But then again, the entire morning is delightful. Her spirit feels... nourished.

But all good things must end. By the time the sun has fully risen they are back in the front hallway of the manor, and Mildred's arm is slipping out of Gwendolyn's, a loss of warmth.

"Thank you for walking with me, this morning." Gwendolyn is smiling down at her, cheeks flushed with the cold. Mildred still feels completely and utterly reckless, and she does not know what to do with the feeling, so she swallows it before she can act on it. "It really was lovely."

Mildred nods.

"I'm afraid I must return to my chambers." Gwendolyn says, "But you will see me again soon, won't you, darling?"

Mildred pauses. She loves that word. _Darling._ If she were a different person she might call Gwendolyn such a name, but she doesn't. They are not friends, Mildred reminds herself weakly

"I am not sure I will be able to avoid you, though I wish to." Mildred says, with no bite in it. It is getting harder and harder to be cold towards this woman, this blazing spirit. Mildred has softened far too much. "This manor is smaller than it seems."

"I am fortunate, then." Gwendolyn's smile lingers for a moment longer. "Good day, Mildred."

"And you, Miss Briggs."

They stand there for a moment longer, before Gwendolyn blinks. Her eyes flicker over Mildred's face, and there is a pause in which Mildred wonders what she is thinking, why she hovers there with some sort of feeling in her eyes that flickers and burns. Then Gwendolyn shakes her head and sighs, and her hand flutters nervously to her neck.

Gwendolyn nods and turns away. Mildred stares at the now empty space in front of her, her notebook clutched to her chest. Here alone Mildred wonders, what sort of new world is this, that she's found herself in? And who is she becoming?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WROTE THE OYSTER SCENE :) basically i was researching what sort of meals would be eaten at a victorian dinner and i saw the second course was usually seafood and that oysters were a delicacy. it was such a nice discovery!! 
> 
> it was interesting to write this chapter because mildred and gwendolyn have mostly met alone so far, with a few exceptions like the ball. so to see them together in a social world where they just create their own little bubble is sweet! they've begun to write themselves at this point. plus i got to add quite a few more ratched characters and i can't wait to play around with them
> 
> i just fear what sort of scandals will occur at hanover manor. and what about this gardener of ours? any predictions or thoughts about what's going to happen next?
> 
> i would also like to say, thank you for keeping up with this story and always commenting such lovely things! i appreciate it so much even if i don't reply to every comment i always read them and smile! it's really encouraging and i don't feel anxious as i write this. instead, i'm just excited, so thank you.


	9. in bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What did you say?" Gwendolyn breathes, longing for Mildred to say it again.
> 
> Mildred's cheeks are pink, her lips parted. Before she can respond, the two women at the table interrupt.
> 
> "I didn't know the two of you were friends." Betsy says.

Gwendolyn's arms burn as she pulls the paddle back and forth.

It was Doctor Hanover, of course, who had suggested this particular past time. The boats are out on the lake near the manor, with Gwendolyn and Trevor in their own. The air is crisp, fresh, and slightly cold - the lake, rippling under the early sun, moves like its alive. Across the water Gwendolyn can see Lenore Osgood and Hanover in the same boat, talking about something with their heads close together. It is an amusing sight, and there'll be gossip about them later, Gwendolyn is sure.

Trevor pulls the other paddle opposite her, with a smile. Gwendolyn almost never sees him frown.

"It's rather nice here, isn't it?" Trevor says conversationally, "I don't regret coming to Hanover manor, after all."

"Even despite Hanover's... _project_?" Gwendolyn asks, watching a fish leap from the water and then disappear under its depths again.

"Even despite it." Trevor chuckles, "Although it's not as if he has been particularly heavy on academia since we arrived."

This is true, Gwendolyn thinks. Hanover has taken them on boat rides and trips to town, but he hardly mentions his _medical miracle._ Gwendolyn is glad of this. She's been able to live a week here in warm peace, running into Mildred as much as she can.

"But he mentioned last night that the subjects will be arriving next week." Trevor says.

Gwendolyn looks up at her fiance sharply. Her steady rowing rhythm falters, her hand freezing around the paddle for a moment before she resumes the movement. The mention of what is to come makes her sad, and chips away at something inside of her.

"Ah. The people that he will-"

"Operate on, yes." Trevor raises an eyebrow, "You don't suppose it's too late to stop him?"

"The most dangerous sort of person is a stubborn one." Gwendolyn points out, "And Doctor Hanover seems particularly stubborn. I doubt we alone could convince him."

"Yes, you're right." Trevor sighs, "Alas, it can't be _all_ bad. Tell me, how is your little governess?"

Gwendolyn smiles, and a ray of sunlight falls on her face, and touches the ruffles of her dress.

"Mildred is elusive as ever." Gwendolyn says.

"Yet you continue to pursue her." Trevor chuckles, "What was that you were saying, about stubbornness?"

"Oh, be quiet." Gwendolyn laughs.

"But I must say, Gwen, I've never seen you get so caught up on one woman." Trevor says, "You look quite in love with her."

"That's rather hasty, Trevor." Gwendolyn says quickly, "And for now we are _friends._ We probably will be for the foreseeable future. She is quick to run away, so I'm moving slowly _._ "

"I see. But you know, there is a reason so much poetry is about unrequited love." Trevor says, "Do be careful. I don't want to see you hurt."

"You know by now I can look after myself." Gwendolyn says, although lately, she's not sure she can. "Anyway, I'd hardly care if the whole thing fell through. I'm not so attached that you should be worried."

It is a heavy lie, and Trevor knows it, judging by the glint in his eyes. Gwendolyn swallows and looks out at the lake, her thoughts buzzing. It's true that she's never felt like this, never wanted- well, whatever it is she wants. Lately she dreams of simple things, like secluded dinner dates, like walks in the park.

Mildred had walked just a few days ago with her arm in Gwendolyn's arm. Even that small morning had been so delightful. And the problem, Gwendolyn thinks, is that she could be overwhelmed just _looking_ Mildred every day, not speaking to her, not even standing close to her - just looking at her. Even just looking is sometimes too much for her heart.

"Enough of that," Gwendolyn says, a lump in her throat, "Has a gentleman here caught your eye?"

"I've been unlucky." Trevor says, "Everyone here is married. Perhaps it's time to return to your music hall. I did find wonderful lovers there."

Gwendolyn chuckles.

"As did I." She says.

"There's something so romantic about that music hall." Trevor sighs, "Yes, I think I will return. Throw me a rose, would you, darling?"

Gwendolyn raises an eyebrow.

"Or do you throw them to your governess?" Trevor says, "Oh, no, you do, don't you? You're not very subtle, Gwendolyn."

"Well, it's- That's not-" Gwendolyn frowns, paddling stubbornly and splashing their feet with water in the process, "Oh, I admit it, I do. Please stop _laughing_ , Trevor. I threw her one the first time I saw her and after that it sort of became- I don't know. She's never mentioned it."

"Are you blushing?" Trevor chuckles. Gwendolyn scowls. "Do you think she keeps them under her pillow? Or locked safely in a drawer, perhaps?"

"You're a menace," Gwendolyn grumbles, splashing him with water. "Why am I engaged to you?"

"You love me, Gwen." Trevor reaches forward to pat her knee, "But goodness, you two _are_ rather sweet, aren't you? Please, do tell me every sordid detail from now on.."

"I will do no such thing." Gwendolyn says, "And in any case, I'm not sure there's much to update on. I'm becoming doubtful that she wants me."

"That is the wrong attitude to have." Trevor interrupts, "I'm sure you could make _any_ woman fall in love with you. And, if you want my opinion, Miss Ratched is half in love with you already."

"Do you really think so?" Gwendolyn asks. Realising how her voice is trembling, she clears her throat and sits up straighter. "By which I mean, I want to be sure before I proposition her. I just don't want to lose her friendship. She is-"

A rose. Petals blooming in spring. Gwendolyn thinks she sees those haunting eyes flash in the lake.

"I wish to court her." Gwendolyn finally says. "But only once we are close. I want to do it properly, as a man and a woman would."

"Court her?" Trevor asks. He pauses, scanning Gwendolyn's face, and an amused smile twitches on his lips. "You really are in danger, aren't you?"

"I'm quite the mess, lately." Gwendolyn sighs, "Perhaps I should throw myself overboard."

Trevor laughs. She is suddenly grateful for his company, his friendship, his unflinching commitment to being beside her.

"Never change." He says, and Gwendolyn smiles. _You neither,_ she thinks, with warmth.

*

While the guests row happily in the lake Mildred takes a walk around the manor grounds.

It is a lovely Saturday, she thinks, cold but fresh and bright. The children had been taken on the lake, too, and so Mildred is free for several hours. Today she thinks she might walk, for as long as her legs will carry her, and then disappear into the library to get a moment's peace before dinner - and, later, the music hall.

The music hall, Mildred thinks again, imagining it as she walks. The smells, the sounds, the lights. Gwendolyn. She indulges in these images under the sun, the hem of her bland dress brushing the pathway. As she walks she can see the lake by the manor glisten. Mildred can see their shadows, and hear laughter in the distance, but she cannot place which ones are Gwendolyn and Trevor.

Do they row often, Mildred thinks? What sort of activities do Gwendolyn and Trevor get up to, as a couple? In truth Mildred knows nothing of relationships, courtships and married life. She's never imagined herself in that sort of dynamic. There have never been men who she's set her sights on - she's never had the longing to be that close to someone. Or, if she has, she has swallowed it quickly.

What might it be like, to be kissed, to be loved? Mildred reads of romances often, in poetry and fiction. Illicit affairs, or pure, Godly love, or passion hot and all consuming. For some reason Mildred's mind is hooked on love, this morning, and she begins to wonder.

Does Gwendolyn kiss, and be kissed? She must, Mildred thinks. How does it feel to be gathered in warm arms, and loved?

It hardly matters. Mildred does not even want friendship - love is far from her mind, she reassures herself, even as images flicker before her. 

Mildred cannot imagine herself sharing a life with someone.

It simply isn't possible, she thinks.

Lost in these sort of thoughts, she continues to walk, around and around the manor. It is on her third circle around the building that Mildred realises Earl has been pruning a tree, sheers held between his hands, the entire time. So not to be rude, once she grows close to him, she stops walking.

"Good morning." She greets warmly. Despite his strangeness, Mildred has become used to the sight of him in the gardens, with mud on his boots and face. It's a rather reassuring sight. Earl looks down at her and smiles, friendly, and though he isn't trustworthy, Mildred can't help but be fond of him.

"Hello, Miss." Earl says, "Taking a walk?"

"Yes, indeed."

"The rest of them are out on the lake, huh?" Earl looks out in the direction of the lake, and scowls.

"Are you jealous?" Mildred laughs, "Don't be. It is cold, and rowing is tiresome. I can't be envious of that ."

"It's the principle of it, though. Seems unfair, that we should be out here working, while they get to have their fun."

"My, you are disagreeable today." Mildred laughs, but secretly agrees. Weren't the guests here for academic purposes? Up to now they have done little but laugh and smoke cigars, which Mildred suspects is because of Hanover's lazy habits.

"Nah, you understand, Miss. I can see it in your eyes." Earl says, "You're like me."

"Like you?" Mildred asks.

"You're not a bootlicker." Earl says, and they both laugh. "Not like that Miss Bucket, anyway."

"Oh, she means well." Mildred defends.

"I suppose it's not her fault that Hanover's an ass." Earl shrugs.

It's nice to talk to someone like this. After a week of polite greetings and power imbalances with Hanover's guests, Mildred feels a certain solidarity with Earl. Feeling comfortable, she approaches the topic she really wishes to talk about.

"You mentioned, last week, something peculiar." Mildred begins slowly, "That you were not Earl, and nor a gardener. Do you recall?"

Earl just raises an eyebrow at her.

"Though I was not surprised you aren't a gardener, given your sub par gardening skills." Earl chuckles at Mildred's insult. "I do wish to know who you are."

"No can do, miss." Earl says, "It'll ruin the whole operation."

Now Mildred is _really_ curious. She should have went to Doctor Hanover as soon as Earl confessed to her, but she had not - and now her reckless spirit is pulled towards him. She wishes to find out why, and how, he is here. Her heart races with the _danger_ of this situation. Mildred is changing, and quickly. A strength rises inside of her as she makes him confess his secrets to her.

"You can confide in me. Haven't I kept your secrets so far?" Mildred says, "At least give me your name."

Earl looks at her for a moment, considering. Eventually he sets down his sheers in the grass. and holds out a hand stained with mud, slightly green from leaves.

"The name's Edmund Tolleson." Earl says.

Mildred shakes his hand.

"Hello, Edmund." She says, "It's nice to finally meet you."

*

It is after dinner when Gwendolyn finds Mildred.

The afternoon, Mildred thinks, has passed slowly. With little to do other than read she has been tucked away here, skipping dinner in favour of tea and sandwiches, and reading in the low lamplight. The later the hour, though, the more she reminds herself that it is Saturday, and soon she must depart for the music hall.

How will it work, now that Gwendolyn staying at the manor, Mildred thinks. Might they ride together in Gwendolyn's carriage? The thought makes Mildred stiffen. When had outings with Gwendolyn become so... regular? She is becoming as familiar as breathing.

Mildred is reading a passage from a book carefully when she hears someone enter the library. Low sunlight is falling on the pages. It illuminates her finger, that is pressed against the page and tracing the lines of text. She is not concerned - if a guest has come to browse the library she can stay content in her small corner of the room.

But then she hears that familiar voice.

“Mildred.” Gwendolyn says. Mildred’s eyes flicker up to meet hers.

Gwendolyn is softened by the evening. Lately, Mildred thinks, she seems more subdued. There are shadows under her eyes, and she has been frowning more often. Mildred can’t help but wonder why.

“I thought I might find you here.” Gwendolyn says.

“Have you been looking for me?” Mildred asks. She is playing with the corner of her page absentmindedly, folding it between her finger and thumb.

“Well, yes.” Gwendolyn smiles. “I assume you are planning to visit the music hall tonight. I came to offer you my carriage.”

Mildred raises an eyebrow, but already she can feel a smile flickering onto her lips.

“You are full of assumptions, Miss Briggs.” 

“They usually turn out to be true.” Gwendolyn smiles. She looks at Mildred a moment too long before blinking and looking away. “Well? Are you to ride with me?”

“I suppose I must.”

“You must?”

Mildred does smile, now.

“You are too stubborn. To refuse you would be pointless.”

“That’s the second time someone has called me stubborn today.” Gwendolyn laughs, “Am I really so determined?”

“I am agreeing to accompany you once again, despite having a reputation amongst Doctor Hanover’s colleagues as a recluse.” Mildred says, “I think that says enough about your stubbornness.”

“Or, consider this. I am too charming to resist.” Gwendolyn holds out a hand to help Mildred to her feet. Thoughtlessly Mildred takes it.

Gwendolyn's hand is warm in her own, rough and strong as Mildred remembers. She finds herself savouring the feeling before Gwendolyn lets go. Gwendolyn's eyes flicker with some strong feeling before her usually friendly smile appears again, and Mildred only swallows and runs her hands down the front of her dress.

They leave the library together, and walk out of the manor. Stepping into the night sky with Gwendolyn is almost magical. They are plunged into darkness, and Mildred feels as if she becomes new, when they walk under the stars together.

"Is Huck to join us?" Mildred asks, when they reach Gwendolyn's carriage.

"He has already went ahead to town. He helps prepare the music hall, you see." Gwendolyn explains. She helps Mildred into the carriage with her hand, and again Mildred melts, her heart fluttering like the wings of a delicate bird.

"And of course, _you_ are late." Mildred says, from inside of the carriage.

Gwendolyn sends Mildred a scowl as she climbs into the carriage and closes the door gently behind her. She sits herself beside Mildred, and Mildred can feel the warmth of her. She smells of her usual floral perfume, and Mildred can see the lines of her face under the moonlight.

"I do not like what you are implying." Gwendolyn says.

"I am nothing if not honest." Mildred says, and Gwendolyn nudges her.

"You are cruel to me." Gwendolyn says, lightly, but Mildred knows it is true. She tortured the woman for quite a while, due to her own cautiousness. How is it that she is sitting in this dark carriage now, right beside her?

"Yet you continue to seek my friendship." Mildred smiles, just slightly, at her hands on her knees. "How foolish of you."

"I wouldn't call it foolish." Gwendolyn says, "After all, you are the most pleasant company in the entire manor."

Mildred glances at Gwendolyn out of the corner of her eye. She feels so caught in the moment, so completely true to herself, and... Mildred realises sharply that she's _comfortable_ here, beside Gwendolyn. Oh, she thinks, her back sunk into the carriage seat.

"You must keep unpleasant company, then." Mildred says.

"Or yours is particularly wonderful." Gwendolyn smiles, and Mildred flushes pink with delight. She has started to enjoy Gwendolyn's compliments. "It is one of the two."

Carriage rides are usually loud and uncomfortable - Mildred always dreads them. This one, though, she rather enjoys. She watches the darkness pass by in a flash of stars. Though the carriage seems to sway perhaps a little too much, she doesn't really notice anything except the warmth growing inside of her.

"Were you walking today?" Gwendolyn asks suddenly, "By the manor?"

"Yes, I was." Mildred murmurs, her eyes still focused on the outside of the carriage. It rattles slightly, and the two are jostled from side to side.

"I thought I saw you. Do you like to walk?

"Ah- yes. It is refreshing, is it not?" Mildred says, "And it is easier to avoid people, when you are walking."

"Indeed." Gwendolyn laughs, "If you are sitting, then it is expected someone will come and sit beside you."

"I cannot imagine anything worse than an unwanted guest."

"Yet here you are, beside me." Gwendolyn says, "It seems you favour my company, too."

"You flatter yourself." Mildred says, but it's true, isn't it? She can't imagine a person she would rather be with. "But I suppose you are... tolerable."

"Tolerable?" Gwendolyn chuckles, "Well, I'm flattered."

Mildred never gets to reply, because it is at that moment their playful conversation is interrupted by the carriage lurching to the side. It feels as if they are off balance. Mildred has a moment, as they are suspended in air, when she realises the carriage is about to fall. Carriage accidents are common, but Mildred has never been involved in one. Out of blind fear she grabs onto Gwendolyn's arm tightly as they are plunged to the ground.

There is a large _crash_ as they land. The horses neigh, loud and panicked, and Mildred's face scrapes along the side of the carriage. The impact makes her feel dazed, for a moment, and she slips out of consciousness for a few seconds.

When she opens her eyes again, she is lying on the grass, just beyond the carriage wreck.

Gwendolyn's face is peering into her own.

"Mildred?" Gwendolyn asks, framed against the night sky, "Mildred, are you alright?"

The pain in her face is searing, bright, but Mildred can bear it. She blinks for a moment in an attempt to ground herself. Gwendolyn is leaning above her, and her eyes are blown wide with fear. But she is not scared for herself, Mildred realises suddenly, she's scared for _Mildred._ The realisation stuns her.

It is in this moment she realises that Gwendolyn is genuine. She cares for her - she has always been honest in her intentions. Mildred's heart blooms with gladness and she stares up into Gwendolyn's face.

"Say something," Gwendolyn says, and reaches up her hands to cradle Mildred's face, perhaps to examine the wounds. The touches sting, and Mildred hisses. "Sorry, darling."

"I'm fine." Mildred manages to say. She touches her face too, and her fingers come back dark - blood, she thinks, though she can't see well through the dark. "What happened?"

"The wheel came loose." Gwendolyn says. She looks particularly pale, under the moon. Mildred has always seen her as a steady presence, but she looks so scared and so shaken that Mildred finds herself wanting to take care of her in return. "We fell and I thought you- you-"

Mildred sits up slowly, brushing the dirt from her dress. If there is a quality of hers that she likes, it's her own calm temperemant - the ability to remain unflinching in the face of most situations.

"I'm fine." Mildred says again, and smiles. "You needn't worry so much. It's just a scrape."

Gwendolyn lets out a long sigh.

"Goodness, that was- Oh, Mildred." Gwendolyn breathes shakily and stands on weak legs. She holds out a hand for Mildred, and Mildred takes it gladly, rising unsteadily to her own feet. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Mildred squeezes her hand, just for a moment, before letting go.

"I'm just grateful we came away from the crash relatively unharmed." She says, "What of the footman? The horses?"

Gwendolyn nods, and Mildred looks behind her, where the sheepish footman is standing with his horses in tow.

"We are incredibly lucky." Mildred says.

"You call this lucky?" Gwendolyn laughs, breathlessly. Still pale, she runs a trembling hand through her hair. Mildred has the longing to grab it, to soothe her, to calm her. She hardly feels the pain in her face anymore. All she can think is _she worried for me_ and _she is my friend_ and _she, she, she._

She is _okay._ Perhaps that is the most relieving part of it all. If Gwendolyn had been hurt - Mildred swallows, and it is surprised at her own reaction. It scares her, too, to think of Gwendolyn being injured.

"I suppose we could ride to town on horseback." Mildred says, "But I do not ride well."

"You, however." Mildred continues. "Are a good rider, aren't you?"

Gwendolyn manages a smile.

"How did you know?"

"I had an inkling." Mildred says, a hint of a smile on her face.

"We are not to go to town." Gwendolyn says suddenly, "I am late, anyway, and it is still an hour away. We must return to the manor, and clean your wounds-"

"They are just scrapes. It's unnecessary."

"Mildred-"

"Miss Briggs, I'm perfectly fine."

"Mildred." Gwendolyn says firmly, a little of the spark in her eyes returning. A shock of electricity jolts down Mildred's spine. "Listen to me. We are to ride back to the manor, understood?"

Mildred stares back at her, feeling warm and confused and still shaken by the day's events. Gwendolyn's eyes flutter shut and she lets out a deep breath before turning to the footman.

"I will ride one, and you another." She says to the footman, and he nods. "Mildred, you are to ride with me."

"But-"

With a single stern glance Mildred is silenced. Though it is not the time Mildred smiles, suddenly, affectionate towards Gwendolyn. Her almost child-like stubbornness. Her deep, caring heart. Her pale face, under glimmers of moonlight. The light strands of hair falling over her eyes.

"Why are you smiling?" Gwendolyn asks.

"It's nothing." Mildred says, just as the rain begins, light and cold. Gwendolyn looks up at the skies and sighs.

"We better be off." She says.

With strong arms Gwendolyn pulls herself onto the horse. She moves with such grace, despite being so shaken, and her posture is straight and refined. It is a majestic sight, Mildred thinks. A moment to be painted.

Gwendolyn holds out a hand. How often, had Gwendolyn taken her hand, just today? How often had Mildred taken it?

She lets herself be pulled onto the horse.

"I hate riding." Mildred murmurs.

"Don't worry." Gwendolyn says back, "Just hold on to me."

The horses begin to trot back towards the manor, as the rain falls gently. Mildred hates how she jostles, cold, swaying on the horse as it moves.

"Put your arms around me." Gwendolyn says in front of her, "It will feel better, I promise."

And, so, hesitantly, Mildred wraps her arm around Gwendolyn's stomach. She is so warm, so _real_ and solid. Mildred can't remember the last time she was this close to another person. Here she can smell Gwendolyn, flowers and rain and musk. It's an intoxicating scent, and Mildred breathes her in.

The horse jerks and Mildred presses herself closer to Gwendolyn. Safer, here. Though her face stings she presses it against Gwendolyn's back, clinging tightly as the horse gallops back to the manor.

Gwendolyn is friend, Mildred thinks, she is a person to lean on, to be close to. Mildred has spent so long alone. Tired, injured, she holds Gwendolyn closer.

"Are you alright?" Gwendolyn asks quietly.

Yes, Mildred thinks, closing her eyes.

*

When she had crawled out of the carriage and seen Mildred lying in the dirt with her eyes closed, her face bloodstained, Gwendolyn had felt a panic unlike anything she had felt before.

It was hot and blinding and she had clutched at Mildred's cheeks, with the desperation of a lover, and though she had known logically Mildred was not fatally injured Gwendolyn had been... terrified. It was then in the dark night she realised her feelings ran so much deeper than she could have ever imagined.

As they walk back into the manor together Gwendolyn has the urge to tug on her dress, to grab her hand, just to feel secured that she's _there._ Silly, Gwendolyn thinks, her heart still pounding in her ears. The memory of Mildred wrapped around her back should be comfort enough.

"Do you still wish to clean my wounds?" Mildred sighs as they walk. The guests are in the living room - Gwendolyn can hear their laughter drifting down the hall. "I assure you, I'm fine."

"Nonsense. Where can I find a washcloth?"

"The kitchen, I suppose." Mildred says. She casts an amused glance behind her. Bloodstained, Gwendolyn thinks, and so utterly lovely. "I still don't see why you had to return here with me. You have a show to perform."

"They can wait a week. I was not going to leave you in the dark, injured."

"You are too much." Mildred giggles. "I was hardly on my death bed."

When they enter the kitchen, the lamp is already lit. Louise and Betsy are sitting at the table playing cards, laughing about something. The two seem a fitting pair, Gwendolyn thinks, and judging by the amused, almost fond smile on Mildred's face, she thinks so too.

They fall silent when they see the two women.

"What the hell happened to _you_?" Betsy asks Mildred. Mildred ignores her and drags two chairs from the table over to the sink. Gwendolyn follows her, amused. "Oh, good evening, Miss Briggs."

"Hello. We had slight incident with a carriage." Gwendolyn tells them, sitting in one of the chairs. Mildred hands her the cloth and sits down too, and Gwendolyn wets the cloth with water.

"Nasty things, they are." Louise says, "This is why I vow only to walk or cycle."

"Or take a boat." Betsy says, and Louise nods.

Gwendolyn presses the cloth first to Mildred's cheek. She's nervous, her heart fluttering as she gently brushes the blood and dirt away from the wound, which is thankfully smaller than it looked. She touches softly, so not to hurt Mildred, and Mildred looks back at her as she does.

"Does it hurt, much?" Gwendolyn asks in just a murmur, switching to the other cheek, where there is no wound.

"No." Mildred reassures her, in the dark. Her eyes glow like stars. "I keep telling you I'm alright."

"I'm just worried." Gwendolyn says. She moves to Mildred's forehead, where there is another cut, and cleans it gently. They should have alcohol, really, or something to disinfect the wound. But they are not deep wounds - and in any case, there are many doctors in residence. "It is only because I care about you."

"Ah- yes. I know." Mildred gives her a smile that is nervous, sheepish. "Thank you, Gwendolyn."

Gwendolyn's heart drops. Her hand hovers over Mildred's face. _Gwendolyn._ The polite, distant title _Miss Briggs_ had been replaced for the first time with Gwendolyn's first name. Oh, how lovely it had sounded coming from Mildred's mouth...

"What did you say?" Gwendolyn breathes, longing for Mildred to say it again.

Mildred's cheeks are pink, her lips parted. Before she can respond, the two women at the table interrupt.

"I didn't know the two of you were friends." Betsy says.

Mildred looks down at her hands.

"Yes, well, we are." Mildred says, and Gwendolyn's eyes widen.

"Is she the one who's been sending you letters?" Louise pipes up, but Gwendolyn can only stare at Mildred. "Betsy was complaining."

"Please stay out of my business, Miss Bucket." Her eyes flicker up to meet Gwendolyn's, through the kitchen, clean now of most of the blood. She smiles, and Gwendolyn blinks. How is it that Mildred melts her, every time?

"Strange pair, you are." Betsy says.

Mildred raises an eyebrow at Gwendolyn as if to say, _aren't we?_

"I do not keep company with anyone unworthy." She says, more to Gwendolyn to Betsy. Mildred has admitted it, openly, that they are friends - that Gwendolyn is dear to her. 

A smile rises on Gwendolyn's face. She is one step closer to finally being able to take Mildred into her arms. All of the waiting, all of the torment... it will all be worth it, one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clears throat* thank you as always for reading!! <3 i don't know what was more dramatic this chapter.. earl being edmund, the carriage crash, or mildred finally admitting gwendolyn is her friend...? stay tuned for more...


	10. the gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Forgive me, Mildred. That's certainly not what I meant." Gwendolyn gives her a smile, "I only wish to buy a gift for you."
> 
> Yes, a gift. She would give Mildred the skies and the oceans and the universe if she was able, but it is impossible - at the very least, she can give Mildred something she dearly wants.
> 
> "A- A gift?" Mildred asks, "But why?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for some homophobia and internalized homophobia in this chapter!

When Mildred wakes with the cold sunrise, her face still stings.

She winces as she rises from the thin cover of her sheets, and runs her hand over the slowly healing wounds. It is a shame, she thinks, that instead of watching Gwendolyn's performance she'd ended up in a carriage wreck. Still, Mildred isn't in bad spirits as she stands in her nightgown and makes her bed. The disastrous trip had revealed something important to her - Gwendolyn was honest, and truly did care about her. No one could fake that raw fear that Mildred had seen in her expression. Though she rarely trusts people, Mildred thinks it may be... safe, to place her trust in Gwendolyn.

When Mildred turns to her dresses, hanging by the window, to change, she spots a slip of paper on the floor. It must have been slipped under the door. Mildred, curious, lifts it from the ground and unfolds it. She already has a suspicion to who must have sent it.

_Mildred,_

_I hope I am not acting out of turn by slipping this letter under your door. The housekeeper, Betsy, was kind enough to direct me to your chambers._

_I simply wished to ask if you were free to go to town, today. There is a bookshop hidden within the city streets that I think you would like, and it is rarely visited. If you were able to take the afternoon off, I could take you there, though certainly not with my own carriage... If you find this plan agreeable, then I will meet you by the lake after Church._

_Please accept my apologies once again for last nights incident. I hope you are well, and that your injuries are healing._

_Yours,_

_Gwendolyn._

Mildred folds the letter again once she's read it. She slips it into the drawer with Gwendolyn's other letters, and the roses, and closes it. The morning sun seems all the more bright, now, and this must be the reason. Gwendolyn knows she loves to read - and she had asked Mildred to go somewhere so delightful with her. It was more than she deserved. Mildred finds herself smiling and quickly schools her expression into something more serious.

With light spirits she pulls on her dress, and ties her hair tightly. Mildred cleans her face in a tiny mirror, and is careful as she touches the cuts on her skin. Once dressed she turns to the door and leaves, finding her way through the hallways to Doctor Hanover's office.

As she walks, sunlight slips through the windows and lands by her feet, on the clean, sparkling floors. Mildred walks down staircases, past servants, with more brightness on her face than usual. How nice to have plans, she thinks. How lovely to not be alone. After all, before Gwendolyn had burst into her life, Mildred had no friends and no company. Now, at least, she has one woman who she can believe in.

Mildred knocks on Doctor Hanover's door sharply.

There is a bustle from inside the office, and the sound of panicked voices. When the door opens a woman slips by her, her face flushed and her hat crooked. Mildred raises an eyebrow. _Lenore Osgood._ Hanover is frantically tying his tie, and Mildred thinks, oh _dear_ , what a scandal.

"Good morning, Miss Ratched." Hanover says, and beckons her inside. "Come in."

There are papers and books piled haphazardly on the desk. Mildred peers curiously at the diagrams hanging from the desk. The sketch of the skull, with instruments inserted into it for what Mildred assumes must be the lobotomy, is interesting.

"What can I do for you?" Hanover asks, sitting at his chair. He's patting down his ruffled hair, and Mildred suppresses her amusement.

"I was wondering if I might have the afternoon free, sir." Mildred begins, "To go to town."

"Ah? What is the occasion?" Hanover looks at her, and his eyes widen. "Oh, you are injured."

"Mere scrapes from an accident." Mildred says, "And, to answer your other question, I plan to meet a friend."

"A friend?" Hanover chuckles, and Mildred sparks with irritation. "I wasn't aware you had such a thing."

"Yes, sir." Mildred says.

"Well, if you must, then you can be dismissed for the afternoon. We are to go out on the horses today anyway." Hanover shrugs. He looks at her through his hair, with that same leering smile as always. "There seems to be more colour in your cheeks this morning, Miss Ratched, even though you are wounded. It suits you."

"Thank you, sir." Mildred shifts uncomfortably under his gaze and turns to the desk again. She peers down at the diagram again.

"Are you interested in the procedure?" Hanover asks. He stands.

Mildred gives a short nod. She's been curious about this for a while - though she hears it discussed often Mildred is not aware of the finer details.

"This is the lobotomy I am going to practice on my subjects." He begins, "It is designed to rid the body of sin."

Mildred nods, listening as he details the particulars. The diagrams are extensive and well drawn. Though she has not studied medicine, Mildred finds herself quite intrigued, and thinks she'd like to be there when the surgery is performed.

"What sort of sins does the procedure dispel you of?" Mildred asks.

"Well, it can be any number of things." Hanover says, "One of the subjects I have prepared is bothered by excessive daydreaming. Many mental ailments can be eased by the lobotomy. Then there are the more deviant problems, such as criminality or sexual sin. The other two subjects, female servants, were caught in a, uh, compromising position by their mistress, and were thus volunteered to participate in the surgery."

Mildred blinks.

"A compromising position?"

"It seems the two women had been, ah, in a sort of... relationship, for some time." Hanover chuckles, embarrassed. "If you can call it that."

The words dim some of the brightness that had been glowing in Mildred all morning. Her chest feels tight all of a sudden.

"You are to rid them of their love for one another?" She asks.

"It is not love." Hanover laughs again, "It's unnatural."

Mildred is aware, as all of society is, that love and marriage is to be limited. They can only exist, so the world says, between a man and a woman. It is right, she convinces herself, to rid the two women of their unnatural desires. There is a voice inside of her that disagrees with this sentiment, loudly and furiously, but she silences it. It says _you know that isn't true._ It spits at her, _hypocrite._

"Yes, of course." Mildred says.

"You look terribly pale, all of a sudden, Miss Ratched."

"Ah- it is nothing of consequence." Mildred smiles, convincing herself it's real, "I look forward to observing the results of your procedure, Doctor Hanover."

"As do I. My guests are waiting in great anticipation." Hanover rubs his hands together. "Excuse me, Miss Ratched, but I must prepare for breakfast."

"Yes, sir. I have overstayed my welcome." Mildred bows. "Good day."

She turns to leave, but Doctor Hanover's voice stops her in her tracks.

"Miss Ratched?" He asks, "I implore you to stay quiet regarding, uh, the circumstances you walked in on this morning. I'd appreciate your discretion."

Mildred fights the urge to laugh. She had forgotten the scene she'd scene earlier that morning, as Lenore Osgood practically ran out of the doctor's office.

"Of course, sir." She says smoothly, and waits until the office door is closed behind her to let out a giggle.

*

Gwendolyn's face is shadowed by the bright sun as she takes the path down to the manor's lake.

It has been a pleasant day, so far. She had coffee for breakfast, refreshing and bitter. She had sat at Church while Trevor whispered gossip to her - namely, that Lenore Osgood and Richard Hanover have reignited their affair. Now she is about to meet, or hopefully meet, Mildred Ratched. What a lovely Sunday, Gwendolyn thinks.

There are a few aches in her back and legs from the carriage crash - the impact had been worse on her body than she had expected, but she hardly minds. What's important is that no one was seriously injured. Anything else is fixable. But then Gwendolyn remembers her hands on Mildred's cheeks in the kitchen, careful and delicate. She remembers Mildred's eyes looking up at her, bright like the stars shining out of the window - they had been trusting and warm. There is one thing, Gwendolyn thinks, that she is unable to fix. Her own heart.

A smile blooms on her face when she sees Mildred from a distance, standing by the lake. She hadn't been sure whether the governess would meet her, but there she is. And... Gwendolyn frowns. She isn't alone.

There is a gentleman speaking with her. _Charles Wainwright,_ Gwendolyn thinks. He is taller than her, in an expensive suit, his face shining under the sun. He smiles, charming, and Gwendolyn's frown deepens. Mildred is smiling as she talks with him, her hands crossed in front of her. She hasn't noticed Gwendolyn approach.

Gwendolyn should have prepared for this. What if one of the guests takes an interest in Mildred? It especially concerns her that the gentleman might be _Charles_ , who is known to seduce women. Perhaps he will whisk Mildred away, seduce her...

The gentleman leaves before Gwendolyn can interrupt. Her jaw is clenched as she watches Mildred gaze after him. Then Mildred turns and spots her at last, and she raises her hand in a shy wave, and Gwendolyn is force to swallow her jealousy and step towards her.

"Good afternoon." Mildred says. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Gwendolyn's eyes flicker back to Charles, walking away from them.

"Hello, Mildred." Gwendolyn says, "Who was that gentleman?"

Mildred frowns, probably because of the woman's sharp tone.

"Oh, Mr. Wainwright?" Mildred asks, "He is one of Doctor Hanover's guests. He was introducing himself to me."

"A long introduction indeed." Gwendolyn mutters darkly.

"Well, he was inquiring about my injuries." Mildred raises her eyebrows, defensive, and Gwendolyn finds it endearing despite herself. "Is something the matter?"

"Not at all." Gwendolyn manages a smile, and delights in how Mildred tentatively returns it, some of her defensiveness slipping away.

"Are we still to go to town?" She asks. "Only, you seem in bad spirits this afternoon."

"Yes, of course. Forgive me for being out of sorts. I'm excited for our trip." Gwendolyn finally looks at Mildred properly. Despite her fading wounds she's beautiful, her face softened by the sunlight and her eyes dark and haunting as ever. "Are you well?"

"Yes." Mildred says, "Are you, Gwendolyn?"

Gwendolyn's heart stutters. She pauses. She had thought Mildred's use of her given name last night had simply been due to shock from the accident. But here it is again, spoken in the light of day. _Gwendolyn,_ not Miss Briggs.

"I- I am, thank you, Mildred" Gwendolyn swallows.

"I am glad. Salvatore said he would take us to town." Mildred says, "Since your carriage is currently... unusable."

Gwendolyn's smile widens.

"Thank you for arranging it."

Mildred nods.

"There is so much colour in your cheeks, today." Gwendolyn observes, not thinking about her words before she says them. Mildred blinks up at her.

"Yes, Doctor Hanover said the same this morning."

"Apologies. I'm sure you'd much rather receive such a compliment from a gentleman, not me." Gwendolyn pauses, "While we are on the subject, are there any gentleman here, visiting the manor, that you find yourself taken by?"

Mildred pauses. Her face, Gwendolyn thinks, is always so _unreadable._ Apart from glimmers of warmth and sweetness Gwendolyn hardly sees any of her emotions and it is tiresome, trying to work out what she thinks. Still, still, Gwendolyn continues trying to peer inside of her.

"None at all." Mildred says, and some of the weight on Gwendolyn's shoulders lifts. "I am not in the habit of pursuing male suitors."

"Nor I." Gwendolyn chuckles, amused, though she is sure her reasons are different from Mildred's. "Enough idle conversation. Shall we go?"

Gwendolyn holds out her arm, and Mildred takes it. Her smaller hand, tucked into Gwendolyn's arm, is warm and gentle. Gwendolyn does not wish to let her go, ever again.

"We shall." Mildred says.

*

"Oh, dear," Gwendolyn chuckles, as sunlight hits the carriage, "That _is_ rather scandalous."

Despite yesterday's events Gwendolyn finds herself quite comfortable in Hanover's carriage, as it rides towards town. Mildred sits with her arms crossed in her lap, telling Gwendolyn of the events from her morning, and her company is soothing. Her voice is calming enough that Gwendolyn forgets the sensation of the carriage overturning the previous night.

"Yes." Mildred giggles. She is delightful today, so pink and happy. It's strange, Gwendolyn thinks, shouldn't she be more shaken from her injuries? "The worst of it is that as I was leaving the office, Doctor Hangover asked me for my discretion. He trusted me to keep the whole thing quiet. I doubt Ms. Osgood would appreciate me spreading more rumours."

"Yet here you are, relaying the story to me."

"Well, I trust _you_ , Gwendolyn." Mildred says. There's that name again, _Gwendolyn,_ falling from between Mildred's lips. There's that shy smile again, on the corners of Mildred's mouth. Oh, how Gwendolyn likes her, and wants to kiss that smile away. "You, at least, can be relied upon."

"I'm flattered." Gwendolyn says, her hand fluttering nervously to her hair. She runs a hand through it. "Tell me, why are you so agreeable today, Mildred? You have smiled more this morning than in all the time I've known you."

"My, am I really so gloomy?" Mildred giggles. "It's simply a lovely Sunday. There is no reason other than that. Though perhaps good company helps."

"Smiles _and_ a compliment!" Gwendolyn laughs, surprised, "You really _are_ in good spirits."

"One of us has to be. You've had that horrid frown on your face all morning." Mildred teases.

Gwendolyn supposes it's because she keeps replaying the site of Charles and Mildred together by the lake. They had looked quite the pair. Mildred had greeted him, spoken with him... it is enough to make Gwendolyn prickle, because what if Mildred falls for him, before Gwendolyn can even approach the subject of _her_ feelings for the governess?

"Oh, I do apologise." Gwendolyn says, "I suppose we've swapped temperaments, for the day. You are a little _too_ agreeable and I am not agreeable enough. It's the only explanation."

The two laugh. Gwendolyn has never had a day with Mildred that feels light. Usually there is some wall between them, but now Gwendolyn feels it has crumbled.

"What of that bookshop you told me about?" Mildred asks.

Gwendolyn smiles.

"Oh, it's charming. You'll adore it."

"You're always so certain." Mildred says, though the criticism seems less harsh than usual. Fonder. "How do you know so much of the city, anyway, if you don't live here?"

"I enjoy England. I visit when I can, and when the occasion arises I perform here." Gwendolyn says, "I used to walk around town with other women, in prior years. I spent a lot of time with my... friends."

Gwendolyn swallows. It's a lie - the English women she spent time with were not her _friends._ But she doesn't wish to scare Mildred away, and she still isn't used to telling people of her love for women. She is both defending herself and Mildred. It's too early, she convinces herself, to approach the subject.

"Then why are you here with a poor governess, instead of those women?"

Gwendolyn laughs.

"I've told you before, don't say such things. Your company is more delightful than the entire town's combined."

Mildred turns a little pink and looks down at her shoes. Her fingers curl into her skirts, and Gwendolyn smiles. It's always lovely, to make a woman shy. Especially when it's Mildred.

"You mean to flatter me." Mildred murmurs, "But I must warn you, I'm not easily charmed."

"I already know that." Gwendolyn chuckles.

Their good mood is interrupted when the carriage lurches to the left. It must simply be a pothole, but Gwendolyn gasps and clutches Mildred's arm, hard enough to leave a reddening mark. She imagines the carriage overturning again, imagines a fatal conclusion for the both of them, and her heart pounds in her ears.

"Gwendolyn?" Mildred asks softly, when the carriage has resumed it's steady pace. Gwendolyn tries to breathe. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Gwendolyn says, shaking her head in an attempt to rid herself of her fear. She looks down at her hand, gripping Mildred's arm, and flushes darker. How embarrassing, she thinks "Oh, I'm sorry."

Mildred presses her own hand to the back of Gwendolyn's, holding her there for a moment. Her palm is soft and insistent over Gwendolyn's, and the touch seems to say, _it's okay._

"You're safe." Mildred says warmly, and Gwendolyn's nods, smiles, lets out a breath. She can lean on Mildred, she can rely on her to be there, and the thought stuns her.

Mildred's hand lingers on Gwendolyn's for a moment, and Gwendolyn tries to memorise the soft feeling of her skin before it's taken from her again.

It's surprising, Gwendolyn thinks, that Mildred can be so gentle, and so caring. Underneath her sharp exterior, Gwendolyn thinks, there's a natural caretaker. Her heart melts all over again. She'll never stop being enamoured by this woman.

Thankfully, they arrive in town without further incident. When they step out of the carriage Gwendolyn holds out her arm almost instinctively and Mildred takes it again. They are close, under the sun, close enough that the hems of their dresses brush. Gwendolyn can imagine they are couple, like this, and the fantasy pains her simply because it isn't _real._

"So, where is this bookshop?" Mildred asks.

"Follow me." Gwendolyn replies.

She navigates them through the busy streets. Through market stalls, drunk men, laughter, conversation, greeting, Mildred holds onto Gwendolyn's arm. She's a curious little thing, Gwendolyn thinks, watching Mildred peer into every shop window. Gwendolyn is content just to walk with her.

Eventually they stop outside of a small store. It is lined with dark oak wood, and there's a similar pattern on the front door.

"Is this it?" Mildred asks.

"Yes. I can't wait for you to see it." Gwendolyn opens the door. "After you."

Mildred smiles and brushes past her and Gwendolyn's heart flutters. She marvels at how weak it is. Gwendolyn has never allowed her heart to be stolen but here it is, being taken from her piece by piece. Mildred, she thinks, is a cruel thief.

Inside the bookshop smells old and musky, like coffee and ink. It's small but packed full with old books, and Gwendolyn turns to watch Mildred's reaction. She smiles when she sees Mildred's eyes widen with awe.

"Oh, Gwendolyn," She says, "It's _gorgeous._ "

"I knew you'd like it." Gwendolyn says. This is the sort of place Mildred would love, and Gwendolyn had known it. She had brought her here only to give Mildred another spark of pleasure, to help her experiences the feeling of wonder that she deserved to feel all of the time.

Gwendolyn follows Mildred through the shelves. The governess runs her fingers along the old, bound volumes, murmuring to Gwendolyn when she spots a piece of literature she knows. Mildred gasps when she finds a hidden treasure, amongst the thousands of books.

Mildred pulls it from the shelf and opens it slowly, running her hands slowly along the yellowing pages.

"A first edition collection of Keats." She breathes, "Oh, I thought these had been auctioned off years ago."

Gwendolyn watches happily as Mildred turns the pages. Her eyes scan quickly through the lines, as if checking the book is real. The volume looks huge in her small hands and she holds it delicately, as if it's precious to her. Gwendolyn remembers Mildred reading in the library, with that same expression, and blooms with affection for her.

"I can't believe it." Mildred murmurs, "Oh, how I wish I could have it for my own."

"Why can't you?" Gwendolyn frowns.

Mildred glances up at her and raises an eyebrow.

"A governess' salary hardly pays enough for such a book, Gwendolyn." Mildred says, amused. "As it stands, I can hardly buy books second hand. That's why I'm so grateful for Doctor Hanover's library."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Gwendolyn turns pink, embarrassed. Often she forgets her own privilege. She can have all the books she wishes, thanks to her own and Trevor's work.

"It's quite alright. I'm used to it." Mildred turns back to the book, and sighs. She goes to put it back on the shelf, but Gwendolyn blurts out:

"May I buy it for you?"

Mildred turns to look at her, and Gwendolyn sees her eyes go hard. Mildred's old sharpness returns in an instant.

"Oh, I see. You wish to do so out of pity." She observes, her voice low, "I assure you, I do not need your sympathy, nor your money. I am not your charity case."

Gwendolyn blinks. She hadn't meant it that way. She reaches out and presses a gentle hand to Mildred's arm. Mildred doesn't flinch away from her, and Gwendolyn takes it as a good sign.

"Forgive me, Mildred. That's certainly not what I meant." Gwendolyn gives her a smile, "I only wish to buy a gift for you."

Yes, a gift. She would give Mildred the skies and the oceans and the _universe_ if she was able, but it is impossible - at the very least, she can give Mildred something she dearly wants.

"A- A gift?" Mildred asks, "But why?"

"It would bring me no greater pleasure." Gwendolyn says warmly. She looks into Mildred's softening face and longs for her to believe it. "I assure you, I see you as my equal, not my... _charity case,_ as you called it. I apologise if I offended you."

Mildred shakes her head, her eyes no longer hard. She smiles after a moment and clutches the book to her chest.

"Don't apologise. I'm sorry, Gwendolyn. It seems I was hasty, once again." She says. "I continue to misunderstand you."

"It's alright. I can be rather bold, aren't I?" Gwendolyn chuckles, her hand falling from Mildred's arm. She is relieved that Mildred has not ran from her. "But I do wish to gift you the book. You seem quite attached to it."

"Well, I-" Mildred swallows, "You wouldn't mind?"

"I told you, nothing would bring me greater pleasure."

Mildred looks down at the patterns in the carpet.

"You are too kind." She murmurs, and then bows. "Thank you, Gwendolyn."

"Oh, stop it." Gwendolyn laughs, embarrassed. Her hand flutters nervously to her hair.

"I'm afraid I continue to accept gifts from you." Mildred says, "And then give nothing in return."

"I don't understand. What else have I given you?" Gwendolyn asks, perplexed.

"Well, the roses, of course." Mildred says, and Gwendolyn's heart skips a beat.

"Do you mean to say... Mildred, do you keep them?"

"Why, of course. And your letters, as well. They are safe in a drawer in my bedchamber." Mildred says, so casually, and Gwendolyn is hit by a wave of emotion. Oh, if Trevor were here, he would be laughing. "You continue to gift me with invitations, and your friendship. I'm rather in your debt."

"There is no debt, Mildred." Gwendolyn says, her eyes shining with feeling, and Mildred looks up.

"Gwendolyn, are you alright?" Mildred asks, "There's a rather peculiar look on your face..."

Gwendolyn shakes her head and turns away, feeling out of sorts. She glances at the books, looking for an escape, a way to run from these feelings that crept into her heart when she met Mildred and have never left. Every moment she spends with the governess makes her fear the day she may be rejected.

"Are you finished browsing?" Gwendolyn asks, in a hoarse voice.

"Yes." Mildred says, confused.

She reaches for Gwendolyn's arm, but Gwendolyn steps forward through the bookshelves smoothly. She cannot take any more of Mildred's kindness, when her mind is so fuzzy with all of these forbidden fantasies that Mildred isn't ready to give her. She suddenly feels like a fraud. Mildred trusts in her friendship, but Gwendolyn's feelings are far from friendly.

Gwendolyn pays for the book, and they step outside with the paper bag clutched in Mildred's arms.

"Shall we return to the carriage?" Gwendolyn asks.

Mildred's smile fades. She shuffles her feet under the sun.

"But I-" Mildred pauses, "I thought we might go for a walk? It's a lovely day, and we could take a stroll around the park."

Oh, bless this lovely woman, this angel, Gwendolyn thinks. She swallows her feelings, for Mildred's sake.

"Yes, of course." Gwendolyn holds out her arm, and ignores the ache she suffers when Mildred takes it happily.

Together they walk through the greenery of the town park. As the sun sets the two women talk of everything and nothing, smiling as the colours of the sky change. But all of the while, Gwendolyn is burdened by the unspoken feelings trapped inside of her, waiting to break free.

*

Mildred is giddy with happiness as she walks through the hallways.

It is dark outside, but the manor glows with the lamps. A book is open in her hands as she strolls towards her bedchamber, reading of love and death and pain in the old poetry book Gwendolyn had so kindly bought for her. A _gift,_ Mildred thinks warmly, from such a dear woman. It's more than she could've expected. The words seem all the more beautiful now.

She thinks of Gwendolyn's kind smile. She thinks of the fear on her face, the carriage when it lurched forward, as if about to fall just like last night. She thinks of Gwendolyn shining bold and bright on the music hall stage. Mildred is filled with so much compassion she thinks it might swallow her. She vows to think of a gift to give Gwendolyn in return.

Mildred passes Elizabeth and Edward running around the manor. They are chasing each other and yelling, but she doesn't bother to stop them, so immersed in her thoughts and her book.

It's only when she passes by the kitchen that she pauses and looks up from the poetry.

Edmund is sitting on a counter with a cup of tea. As the moonlight hits his pale face, he looks incredibly lonely - and Mildred, after the day she's had, is filled with sympathy. She likes Edmund, despite all of his secrets. And she's curious about him, too, with that same childish, rebellious spirit that continues to rise inside of her.

"Good evening, Edmund." She greats quietly, closing the book. Mildred doesn't set it onto the desk, or counter - she keeps it gripped in her arms. It's too precious to set down somewhere carelessly.

"Hello, Miss." Edmund says. She hops onto the counter beside him. A bracelet that seems too expensive to be his glitters on his wrist.

"Are you well?" Mildred asks, "Why are you sitting here alone, in the dark?"

"Just thinking." He says, "Have you been out?"

"Yes, I went to town."

"With that Miss Briggs, I presume?"

"Well- yes. We are friends, after all." Mildred smiles, her cheeks turning pink.

Edmund hums, one eyebrow raised. His expression is skeptical, and Mildred has no idea why.

"Anyway, I was just thinking about how those subjects are coming soon for Hanover's surgery." Edmund says, "Can't help but feel sorry for them."

"You feel... sorry for them? Why?"

Edmund turns to her.

"You know what he's going to do, right? Our Dicky," He begins, which Mildred assumes is referring to Doctor Hanover, "Is going to rummage around in their brains and then remove the bits he doesn't like. How is that not cruel?"

"By that you mean their sins?"

"He's told me all about these _sins._ Since when was having an imagination a crime? Or being attracted to someone?" Edmund laughs bitterly, "I'm confused. You're the last person I'd expect to agree with this."

"I'm sorry?" Mildred stiffens. "How do you mean?"

"Don't you have your own _sins,_ Mildred?"

"What are you accusing me of?"

"Oh, please. Everyone knows that Miss Briggs is inclined to keep company with the, uh, fairer sex. I've heard everyone talking about it, while you two have been off on your little trips." Edmund says, "She can only have one intention in being close to you."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"She's had several female suitors. They get up to all sorts of things that aren't suited to polite society, I've heard. Sexual sins, indeed." Edmund says, smiling in a sly sort of way, "You're saying you're not one of them?"

"I don't like what you're implying, Edmund." Mildred says slowly. She clutches her book tighter to her chest, aware of her own heartbeat. "Gwendolyn is my dear friend."

"Wake up, Mildred. These people aren't your _friends._ Come _on_." Edmund says. He sets down his tea with a clatter on the counter. "The higher sorts only care about two things: money, and sex. Just look at all of the guests. Can you say even one of them is free from vanity and cruelty?"

Mildred jumps to her feet.

"Gwendolyn isn't that sort of person."

She isn't. Unlike most of the people Mildred is acquainted with, Gwendolyn is kind and good and selfless. She has a heart of gold. And she cares for Mildred. Mildred knows this. She trusts in it.

"You should do well to be careful what you say." Mildred says, in a low, dangerous tone. Edmund's eyes dance with amusement.

"Of all people, I didn't expect you to be a bootlicker." He shrugs, "You'll regret it soon enough."

"The only thing I regret is keeping company with you." Mildred says, her good mood from earlier dampened. Though she herself has less than amiable feelings towards a lot of the guests here, she would never be so cruel towards Gwendolyn, who has shown her more kindness than anyone in the world. "And if I hear you speak badly about Gwendolyn Briggs again, you _will_ be sorry."

"Now you're threatening me?" Edmund laughs. "I guess I was wrong. You're not like me at all."

Edmund jumps down from the counter.

"Never mind." He says "I work alone anyway. It's a shame, though. We could've been good friends."

Edmund brushes past her, shoving her hard against the counter.

"Enjoy the peace while you can." He says, his smile sharp and dangerous, "A storm is coming."

Mildred, amused, smiles as the 'gardener' leaves. Whatever is going to happen, she is sure it won't be dull. Clutching her books to her chest, Mildred leaves the kitchen and returns to her bedchamber, where she will spend the entire night reading the poems Gwendolyn had so sweetly gifted to her.

*

"That's strange." Gwendolyn murmurs.

Her wardrobe in their guest bedchamber seems... emptier than usual. She looks curiously through the dresses. Her favourite, a dark green gown, is gone, as well as a few others. She definitely packed them. They were there earlier that day, she's sure.

"What is it?" Trevor calls.

Gwendolyn turns to him.

"A few of my dresses are missing." Gwendolyn says, "Did you move them?"

"Why would I do such a thing? " Trevor laughs. But his laughter dies and he suddenly frowns. "Now that you mention it, my pocket watch has disappeared. I thought I'd misplaced it, but I haven't found it anywhere. I thought I had fewer trousers than usual, too."

Gwendolyn's eyebrows furrow. She turns back to the wardrobe. The dresses are definitely gone.

"That's odd." She says, "Trevor, do you think they've been stolen?"

"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. We can ask the housekeeper in the morning." Trevor says dismissively. Gwendoyln frowns, though. She has a bad feeling. "You've been frowning so much lately, dear. What is bothering you?"

_Mildred._ She wants the governess so _much,_ but simply can't have her.

When they had met Gwendolyn had thought if she were closer to Mildred, she would be able to seduce her, but Gwendolyn has found herself in quite the predicament: she does not want to lose Mildred's friendship, even though her feelings grow stronger every day. At first it had been novel to grow closer to her. Now it's just painful. She doesn't know how she'll deal with the hurt if she proposes the idea of a courtship and Mildred rejects her.

"Nothing." Gwendolyn murmurs. "It's late, Trevor. Let's rest."

"Yes, dear."

Gwendolyn closes the wardrobe, a feeling of foreboding brushing over her. This is only the beginning, she thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jealous gwendolyn <3333 protective mildred <3333
> 
> with the arrival of the subjects for hanover's operation, whatever edmund's plan is, and gwendolyn struggling to contain her feelings... you can probably tell there's a lot about to happen. there's a lot of story left to go
> 
> hope you enjoyed this chapter <3 as always thank you so much for all your support. see you again soon ;)


	11. two ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Father told us that you give gifts to people you love." Edward says, "That's why he's always giving them to us. Is it for someone you love?"
> 
> Mildred, startled, drops her needle onto the carpet. She scrambles for it, pricking the edge of her finger as she does. 
> 
> "Oh, Miss Ratched, are you in love?" Elizabeth says, in a bright, joyful voice, from the corner of the room. She sets down her own book quickly. "How lovely!"

The pads of Mildred's fingers are growing sore.

They sting just slightly as she inserts the needle into the black fabric, over and over. The red thread pulls, as she embroiders, and as she works the emerging shape of a rose becoming more and more detailed. Petals take form, ruffled and pretty. The oval shaped pendant lies on the end of a long chain that she'll sort later - it is a necklace, with the end pendant embroidered to be the shape of a beautiful, thorny rose.

As the breeze cools the drawing room, Mildred embroiders, her eyes focused completely on the deep shade of red.

"What's that?" Edward asks.

She looks up at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Have you completed your studies?" She asks him.

The young boy pouts. He swings his legs as he sits there, at the desk, with the most innocent look on his face. While his sister is studying languages alone in the corner of the room, Edward is to take notes on a part of the Bible - his knowledge on theology, Mildred thinks, is particularly lacking.

"What's that?" He asks, again, smiling brightly, and Mildred sighs.

"It is a gift." She says, "Now please, Edward, _focus_."

Edward smiles and turns to his page, but then he sets down his fountain pen again and looks up.

"Father told us that you give gifts to people you love." He says, "That's why he's always giving them to us. Is it for someone you love?"

Mildred, startled, drops her needle onto the carpet. She scrambles for it, pricking the edge of her finger as she does.

"Oh, Miss Ratched, are you in love?" Elizabeth says, in a bright, joyful voice, from the corner of the room. She sets down her own book quickly. "How lovely!"

"I am not." Mildred says, sharp and quick. But Elizabeth is stubborn, and she's already too caught up in the idea. Mildred just grumbles to herself and turns back to her embroidery.

"I do love a romance." Elizabeth sighs dreamily, "You know, Miss Ratched, you've been smiling a lot lately. And you've hardly scolded us this past week. Are you quite in love? So much so that you've become a new person?"

"Do be _sensible_ , Elizabeth."

"How romantic, to embroider a gift for your gentleman." Elizabeth eyes shine with her fantasies, "Has he courted you? Where are you to be married?"

"At the church in town?" Edward pipes up.

Mildred shakes her head and focuses on the rose.

"Oh, look at the blush in her cheeks!" Elizabeth giggles. She stands and twirls. "I wish it were the next ball, and I could find a gentleman of my own to dance with... Did you meet him at a ball, Miss Ratched? A dance? Out in town?"

"Get back to work." Mildred says, "There is no _gentleman._ "

"I don't believe it." Elizabeth falls back into her seat, the back of her hand against her forehead. "Don't be shy, Miss. We'll keep it a secret. Tell her, Eddie. "

"Sure, a secret." Edward repeats.

"How romantic. A secret affair." Elizabeth sighs again, and an amused smile begins to bloom in Mildred's cheeks. "Oh, do tell us more! I promise to not speak a word of it!"

When she was Elizabeth's age Mildred, too, dreamt of a great and all consuming romance. This is where her love of poetry began - the sheer romantic hope and despair in every line filled her with longing, and the wish to be loved completely. She had always wanted to be given roses.

And she had been, Mildred realises, but not by a gentleman. By a _woman._ Mildred is suddenly startled by this. Could the roses in her drawer, thrown over the crowd towards her, be considered romantic? Would some think so? She embroiders as she thinks, caught in these thoughts. How peculiar, she thinks.

Because hadn't Gwendolyn invited her to town, and walked with her, as a gentleman would with the lady of his affections? Almost as if Gwendolyn were courting her...

It's ridiculous, Mildred dismisses, turning back to the children.

"Listen to me." She says weakly, the firmness of her voice undermined by her smile, "I do not hold any feelings close to romantic. Even if I did, it would be none of your concern."

Elizabeth is still giggling. Mildred's smile grows. What a mischievous young girl, she thinks affectionately.

"Since you are acting so improper, Elizabeth-"

"Liza." Edward interrupts.

" _Elizabeth._ " Mildred repeats, but she can feel a giggle in her throat. Oh, dear, she thinks. She's become rather soft on these two. "I will tell you that this is a gift for my friend, Miss Briggs, whom you already know. Will you please concentrate now?"

"Gwen!" Elizabeth says happily, "Oh, is it _her_ who you have feelings for? Is Gwen _courting_ you? The gift is for her, after all! Oh, how romantic."

"Elizabeth!" Mildred scolds. A warm feeling settles over her, as if she has been draped in a blanket that has hung near the fireplace for a few hours, and she ignores it. "Are you out of your right mind? Do not say such things, especially around Doctor Hanover. Two women cannot be in love, or marry."

"Why not?" Edward asks curiously.

"Well, because-" Mildred pauses. She struggles to find a reason for the ideas that are so ingrained inside of her. "That's the way of things."

"That's a bit silly, isn't it?" Elizabeth asks, "I mean, I don't understand. Why not just change the way of things?"

Mildred blinks.

"Excuse me?"

"If the only obstacle is tradition," Elizabeth says, "Just change tradition."

Mildred looks at the young girl curiously. She's lounging back in her chair, with a blazing certainty in her eyes, and she's so much like a younger, braver Mildred that it causes a lump to rise in the governess' throat. She is struck suddenly with just how clever Elizabeth is. She is full of thoughts and ideas that are far beyond her young years, and Mildred is glad to teach her. She'll keep that secret, though - the girl is arrogant enough as it is.

The words, too, strike Mildred. _Just change tradition._ Spoken with the simplicity of a child, Mildred thinks, but isn't there a point to them? After all there are women who are fighting for suffrage right now, she thinks, and others who are trying to get better rights for workers. Aren't they in the process of changing tradition themselves? Might there be a world, in a hundred years, where a woman is allowed to love another woman?

"What?" Elizabeth asks, when she catches Mildred smiling at her. So rude, Mildred thinks, and finally lets out a giggle.

"Nothing in particular." Mildred says, turning back to her embroidery, "You just reminded me of someone, for a moment."

"Oh, who? Was it a handsome lady? Is she rich?"

Mildred can't stop smiling. Sometimes she's completely happy with the world - not often, rarely, but in these moments she is filled with a golden light and convinced that life may not be so harsh after all. It is then that Mildred realises that she's been having moments like this a lot more recently. How often had she taken a turn around the garden with Gwendolyn, or read from a book, and felt that joy rising within her?

_You know, Miss Ratched, you've been smiling a lot more lately,_ Elizabeth had said. Mildred supposes it must have some truth to it.

"You wouldn't know her." Mildred says softly, "But she was much like you, once."

Before Elizabeth can open her mouth and, of course, press her further, the door to the drawing room is pulled open. In the doorway is a gentleman, with sharp, chiselled features, and a warm smile. Mr. Charles Wainwright, Mildred remembers. He introduced himself to her by the lake. He comes from a family of doctors, and he is to practice medicine too, Mildred thinks.

"My apologies for disturbing you." The man bows, "I was simply looking for a place where I could read in peace. Excuse me."

Mildred stands, and catches him before he can leave.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wainwright." She says, her hand on his arm. She lets go quickly, and Charles turns to her curiously. He has a warm, perfect sort of smile. Mildred supposes the ladies must find him handsome. "If you are searching for a quiet place, I would recommend Doctor Hanover's library."

"Oh?" Charles' smile widens. He has the posture and countenance of a boy, Mildred thinks, that same mixture of sheepish confidence and charming arrogance shining in his smile as it does in Edward's.

"Yes, it is just to the left of the staircase." Mildred says, "It is quite beautiful."

"Thank you... Miss Ratched, wasn't it?" Charles holds out a hand, and she takes it. He bows to kiss the back of it, chaste and soft, and Mildred waits for the flutter in her stomach that all of the poems have told her she should feel. Instead, Mildred is reminded of a memory - the first time Gwendolyn's hand had touched hers, as she helped her into the carriage, the first time they met. "I'm much obliged."

"Of course, sir. Anything for a gentleman." Mildred smiles, sweet and coy, the way she knows she should. Underneath it is a hint of confusion, because he is the most handsome and eligible bachelor in the entire manor. Any lady should be delighted to be alone with him right now, to feel him smiling at them like that.

"What a charming young woman you are." Charles responds, his hand still holding her own in the air, as if he were about to lead her to dance. "Forgive me for disturbing you."

"It's quite alright. You were a welcome distraction." Mildred speaks the lines, practiced. Why it feels like an act, she doesn't know.

"Was I, indeed?" Charles chuckles. "Well, I vow to distract you more often."

Mildred smiles, and presses her hand to a chest. Her heart is completely quiet. It doesn't jump or stutter when he raises an eyebrow, teasing and close. Not like it does when she sees Gwendolyn from across the room. Hadn't she stared at Gwendolyn in the dressing room mirror, in that music hall, with her heart beating afrenzy?

_Why-_ Mildred swallows. Ridiculous questions, she thinks, will give ridiculous answers.

"Well, I will leave you now." Charles bows again, and Mildred returns the bow. "But thank you, Miss, for your assistance."

"The pleasure is all mine." Mildred says.

He smiles and turns to leave, but then looks over his shoulder, his face shining in the sunlit hallway. Mildred's heart remains unmoved.

"Your hair looks pretty, like that." Charles says, and Mildred ducks her head, smiles, plays the timid and sweet governess that she knows she isn't.

"Thank you, sir." She murmurs, a skilled actress.

*

Gwendolyn sighs at she tugs at her dress again.

"Do stop laughing, Huck." She seethes, as the man beside her chuckles, his face lit by the afternoon sunshine. "It isn't very gentleman-like."

They had simply been taking a turn around the garden when the fabric of her skirts had caught on a bed of plants, and now she's stuck. Gwendolyn tugs, delicately, trying not to tear the fabric, but she is completely and utterly stuck. Hilarious, Gwendolyn thinks, as Huck laughs and does nothing to help. As if she hasn't had enough on her mind lately, now she is tangled up like this.

"I'm sorry, Gwen." Huck chuckles, "It's just- you always seem so well put together- and here you are-"

"Oh, be quiet." Gwendolyn huffs, tugging at the dress again. "I'm not in the mood."

Huck continues to laugh.

"You are a terrible friend."

"You love me." Huck says, "And in any case, does it really matter if you tear your skirt?"

"Yes. This dress was a gift from Trevor, and I am not one to treat gifts badly. They're special, after all."

"How sweet." Huck chuckles, and Gwendolyn goes to hit him, but is caught by her dress. "Oh, dear. You're quite stuck."

"Well, why don't you assist me, instead of just standing there, Huck?"

"My pocketknife is missing, otherwise I could help." Huck says, shrugging, "My late father bought me this lovely knife, you see, engraved with my name. It's always come in handy, and I'm never without it. But recently, I haven't been able to find it anywhere."

"Trevor and I have had similar incidents." Gwendolyn says, suddenly distracted by his comment. "I've heard others talking of misplaced possessions, too. Do you think there might be a thief in the manor?"

It is at that moment that they are interrupted by heavy footsteps. Gwendolyn looks up, and the manor's gardener is heading towards them, mud on his cheek. He gives a smile that crinkles his eyes, but Gwendolyn feels uneasy, all of a sudden. She has always had a particular sense with people - and this man, she thinks, as he steps closer, is not quite right.

"Got into a bit of trouble, there, Miss?" He asks.

Gwendolyn smiles, politely.

"It would seem so. Would you be able to help me?"

"Certainly could." The gardener turns to the plants that have caught Gwendolyn in their grip. He kneels down, at first attempting to untangle them, and then, after a few minutes of fumbling, pulling out a sharp, well kept pocket knife. The handle is pretty, and engraved with something. Gwendolyn can't see the full engraving from where she looks down, but she sees a _H_ carved into the wood.

As he works, the tip of his knife brushes against her ankle, somehow, and she winces. It stings, and she feels the place grow wet with blood. It must have been an accident, Gwendolyn reassures herself, but there had been no plants holding onto her that low on her leg.

"Sorry, think I nicked you." The gardener says.

"It's quite alright." Gwendolyn says, though the area blooms with pain.

"There we are." The gardener smiles, as he stands, and Gwendolyn can move again without being held back by plants. She sees a flash of her own blood shining bright on the gardener's blade before the knife is tucked inside of his overalls again. Huck is paying them no concern, looking out into the garden, and so he never knows that the pocketknife used to cut Gwendolyn free was... _his own._ Gwendolyn, too, cannot confirm it, though she has a suspicion of what may have been engraved onto that knife.

"Thank you very much." She says, with faux politeness.

"Pleasure, Miss. If you'll excuse me." The gardener bows, his eyes glinting, before leaving them.

"That was kind of him." Huck comments.

"Yes." Gwendolyn murmurs, watching after him. She's always trusted her own instinct, her own thoughts and feelings and ideas, and right now they point towards one thing: unease. Shaking her head, Gwendolyn turns back to the garden, blood seeping into her shoes. "Shall we continue?"

*

As much as possible, Mildred tries to avoid socialising in the evening.

Usually, when the children have been sent to bed, and the manor has grown loud and joyous with the conversations of the guests, Mildred prefers to retire to somewhere quiet. The library is the perfect quiet place, though it runs the risk of being disturbed. Her bedchamber is silent and peaceful, but if she finishes a book taken from the library shelves she has nothing left to do but sleep or write. On some nights she likes to walk in the dark. Others, she might sneak away to town - which is how she had met Gwendolyn in the first place.

Lately, though, socialising has not made her so anxious and uncomfortable as usual. She finds herself wishing to be around Gwendolyn, who Mildred _knows_ must hang around in the drawing room playing cards or telling stories - she is that sort of person. It came on gradually, this longing to be constantly around her, and it won't go away.

They are to go to the music hall every weekend, yet on a weekday night Mildred is restless, wandering around the manor as if her presence in the hallways will somehow summon Gwendolyn to her. Perhaps if she brought it up, they could-

Mildred is hovering outside of the drawing room with the weight of Gwendolyn's pendant in her pocket, lost in these thoughts, when the door opens. Charlotte Wells slips out of the room with her husband, holding happily onto his arm as they retreat, and the door does not close behind them - perhaps they've forgotten their manners, after having such a pleasant, buzzed evening.

The consequence of this is that the door stays open, and Lenore Osgood catches her eye through it.

"Well, if it isn't that little governess!" She calls, delighted, a drunk flush in her cheeks. Oh dear, Mildred thinks.

The company seems to be playing cards around the table. When Gwendolyn hears Lenore's words, she looks up, and smiles at Mildred through the space between them. She looks different like this, cards in hand, leaning back in her seat. Mildred observes her warm eyes and her more casual dress and the hair that isn't so perfectly styled as it is in the mornings.

"Mildred Ratched?" Hanover calls loudly. He is easily drunk, Mildred thinks, pursing her lips, and he is always rather loud. "Come in, come in. Come and play cards with us, dear!"

Mildred steps inside of the room with a practiced grace, but she is secretly pleased.

"Miss Ratched, socialising." Hanover drawls, giving her a grin, "I never thought I'd see the day."

Mildred bows to him, a flare of irritation burning up inside of her. Must he always pick at her?

"Now, now, enough of the niceties." Hanover says, "We all _know_ you are the governess. You don't need to remind us of it. Why don't you sit with a glass of wine, and play with us?"

Mildred smiles when Gwendolyn pulls up a chair right beside her own, and gestures for Mildred to sit in it. She sends the governess a smile just for the two of them, and Mildred fills with delight.

"Hello, Mildred." Gwendolyn murmurs to her, as Mildred sits down beside her. Gwendolyn smells of flowers and wine, and Mildred peers over Gwendolyn's shoulder at her cards. Old Maid has always been a favourite of Mildred's.

"Good evening." Mildred murmurs in return. At this rate, Gwendolyn is sure to lose, though the woman doesn't seem bothered by this.

"I'm glad you're here. I've had rather a lot of wine, and Trevor has retired to bed, so I have little incentive to stop." Gwendolyn says. She lifts her glass with her free hand and sets it into Mildred's palm. "You must drink this."

"Gwendolyn, that is not-"

"I insist." Gwendolyn says, "And in any case, it's _gorgeous_ wine. Think of it as a gift."

"Well-"

"You cannot deny a gift." Gwendolyn interrupts, and Mildred raises an eyebrow. Gwendolyn's eyes dance with that same charm and delight as always.

"I suppose not." Mildred says, surrendering easily, and takes a sip. It's pleasant, indeed. Mildred's never had such a rich wine before. She peers at Gwendolyn's cards again, and Gwendolyn catches her looking.

"You look disapproving." Gwendolyn says, an amused chuckle in her voice. There is a pink flush rising from her throat to her cheeks. Quite drunk, Mildred thinks, smiling to herself. "I have received a rather unlucky hand, haven't I?"

"What a shame." Mildred says, glancing at the cards piled onto the table that have already been discarded. Gwendolyn has the most left out of everyone, Mildred thinks, amused. She leans over Gwendolyn's arm and their fingers brush as Mildred rearranges the cards for her. "There."

"What _are_ you doing?" Gwendolyn asks, looking into her face. Her eyes shine, hazy with the wine, and her lips are stained red with it.

"It is a trick I learned long ago." Mildred says. "Trust me."

"Well, alright." Gwendolyn chuckles. "Although I don't see how this will help in the slightest."

Yet as the game continues, the players draw from Gwendolyn's cards and find themselves perplexed - not one receives the card they need. In return, Gwendolyn begins to make more pairs.

"You are extraordinary." Gwendolyn laughs, as she sets down her last pair. She's won. Mildred smiles smugly, softened by the wine. "You continue to surprise me, Mildred."

There is a great uproar from the table, when they realise Gwendolyn has won.

"Well, that was quite unfair." Lenore says, throwing her cards furiously onto the table. "The two worked together."

"Oh, you can't be serious. A respectable woman like Miss Briggs doesn't need help from my governess." Hanover chuckles, and Gwendolyn sends Mildred an amused glance. "No, she won fairly."

Gwendolyn is achingly pretty in the living room, with the stars glittering behind her through the windows, and a tipsy, warm smile bright on her cheeks. Mildred looks into that smile and feels it - the poetry that she had looked for when Charles had smiled at her. It's a realisation she refuses, even as she smiles back at Gwendolyn. It's as if they are the only two people in the world. No one even notices their private moment, too busy arguing.

It is then that Mildred feels gentle fingers land on her wrist.

"I am growing tired of this company." Gwendolyn murmurs quietly, "Aren't you?"

Mildred gives a small nod.

"Shall we retire somewhere quieter?" Gwendolyn asks.

"Yes, if that is what you wish."

Gwendolyn's smile brightens with relief. Even now, Mildred thinks, Gwendolyn expects Mildred to turn her away. It's only fair. Their friendship is still new and blooming. It needs room to grow, before Gwendolyn can accept it's true.

"You can leave first, and wait for me outside." Gwendolyn says, "I will follow in a few minutes."

Mildred nods and stands. She turns to the crowd around the table, who continue to argue about the card game. She would announce her departure, politely, but it seems easier to slip away when they are caught in the middle of a conversation. So she does, slipping like a ghost out of the room.

When in the hallway Mildred smiles to herself. She has achieved what she had wanted - Gwendolyn's company. It was as if a wish on a star had been granted.

While she waits Mildred takes the pendant from the pocket of her dress and looks down at it. It's a simple embroidery, but pretty, Mildred thinks. It's dark and elegant and it will fit perfectly around Gwendolyn's neck, against the base of her throat... She runs her hand over the embroidered rose, a nervous flutter in her stomach. Mildred hopes she likes it.

Gwendolyn steps out of the door a moment later. She spots Mildred standing in the shadows and grins at her.

"There you are!" She says, so warm with her happiness. Mildred smiles and steps towards her. "I thought you might have disappeared into the night."

"I would have, once." Mildred laughs.

"Yes, when we first met, you refused to even tell me your name." Gwendolyn says. 

"I'm sorry." Mildred looks down at the pendant, "I simply didn't know you then."

"Oh, don't apologise." Gwendolyn chuckles, "On the contrary, those were such lovely days."

Mildred looks up, the embroidered gift clutched between her fingers. Moonlight touches Gwendolyn's hair. She smiles at Mildred curiously, as familiar and stunning as the night sky, and Mildred thinks, _now, now._

"Here." She says, staring resolutely at the shadowed walls, and holds out the pendant.

Gwendolyn steps towards her.

"What is it?" She asks.

Gwendolyn takes the gift carefully from Mildred's palm, and once she has it Mildred feels brave enough to look up and watch her react to the gift. Gwendolyn runs her hand over the embroidered image, the way Mildred has just moments before, and her smile slowly fades, leaving behind it an expression that Mildred can't read.

"Did you embroider this?" Gwendolyn asks quietly. But the hallways are large, and silent, so her question echoes around them.

"I- Yes." Mildred swallows. "It's a gift, for you."

Gwendolyn is silent.

"Do you not like it?" Mildred asks, her heart sinking, but Gwendolyn shakes her head quickly.

"Oh, Mildred, of course I like it." Gwendolyn stays staring at the pendant. "I love it. It's beautiful."

"Ah." Mildred lets out a breath, and some of the tension slips from her shoulders. "I'm glad."

Gwendolyn looks up at her, her eyes shining like moonlight, and gives Mildred a smile.

"Thank you." She says, sincerely. Mildred smiles back. _Don't thank me,_ the smile says. "Would you put it on for me? Only, I wouldn't want to be clumsy, with something so lovely."

Mildred nods. She takes the pendant back in her hands and steps behind Gwendolyn. Carefully, she sets the embroidered rose by Gwendolyn's throat, and goes to close the clasp on the back of her neck to secure the necklace in place. But something makes Mildred pause.

Her fingers brush the back of Gwendolyn's neck. There are a few freckles here, and the skin is illuminated by the moonlight. Mildred hears a catch in Gwendolyn's throat and she doesn't know what to do, with the feeling that overcomes her, burning like the brightest star.

Mildred closes the clasp, but doesn't move, even when Gwendolyn turns to her. Her hands still hover in the air, as if seeking the ghost of Gwendolyn's throat.

"How does it look?" Gwendolyn asks, and then, realising Mildred is frozen in place, takes one of her hands in her own. "Mildred?"

Mildred, startled, blinks and shakes her head.

"Apologies." She murmurs. Her eyes flicker to the rose sitting delicately on Gwendolyn's skin, and the sight does nothing to ease her shaken, confused heart. "It looks quite beautiful."

"Just quite?" Gwendolyn teases, and as Mildred looks up into her face Elizabeth's words rattle around in her mind.

_Is it her who you have feelings for?_

Gwendolyn's eyes flicker to Mildred's hand, that is held lightly in her own. She turns it, and blinks.

"Your hands are quite sore." Gwendolyn says.

"I am not skilled in embroidery." Mildred smiles, "I had to work rather hard."

"I can see that." Gwendolyn murmurs. Her fingers brush Mildred's gently. She is as soft as calm waves, brushing against the shore, and Mildred is lost in it. "What an angel you are."

Gwendolyn turns Mildred's hand, and leans down to kiss the back of it. Under starlight, the both of them are shadowed like two ghosts in the hallway. Here, in the dark, Mildred realises that Charles Wainwright's gentle kiss had brought her no feeling, while the press of Gwendolyn's mouth brought so much of it, so much-

Gwendolyn straightens, flushed and a little drunk, and Mildred's hand burns.

"How do you feel about a nightcap?" Gwendolyn asks. It's too easy to say yes, and follow Gwendolyn anywhere.

Perhaps, Mildred thinks, Elizabeth was right. It terrifies her. But the thought won't leave her alone, now that it's taken root.

*

Being able to see Mildred Ratched in the morning is a pleasure Gwendolyn will never take for granted.

She leans her chin on her hand, watching the governess in secret from the other side of the table. Mildred drinks from her cup of tea, gazing into the sunrise, and the pink and yellow light touches her face as if the sun is looking back at her. Her hair is tied tightly, as always, but her face is softened by morning. There are still shadows by her eyes. She still allows herself to yawn. Mildred seems completely and utterly human, and for once, she doesn't feel far away.

Gwendolyn watches her drink and breathe and _exist_ and wishes, for once, that Mildred would catch her looking. It would be so much easier, to get the whole thing over and done with, instead of gazing at her and _caring_ for her silently like a ghost. Gwendolyn knows she must take action before she falls in love. If she is too close- If Mildred rejects her completely- Gwendolyn already feels it would be difficult to bear. If they got any closer, it would ruin her completely.

The pendant sits heavily on her neck, as if a weight, a reminder of the burden of feeling Gwendolyn bears. Everything Mildred does just deepens her feelings. She thinks of her, imagines her, _dreams_ of her, so often. Mildred can simply walk by and Gwendolyn feels as if she is pushed further, and further, towards the edge of the cliff. Absentmindedly, she plays with the necklace Mildred had gifted to her so sweetly. Hadn't she looked like an angel, under the night sky, when she had held it out with that shy look on her face?

Gwendolyn is interrupted from her thoughts by the grating sound of Hanover's voice.

"As you are all aware," He begins, "The procedure is to be held in a fortnight."

There are several claps from around the table. Gwendolyn bites the inside of her cheek. She had forgotten about the upcoming surgery, and now she's reminded, her heart sinks even further into darkness.

"Ahead of this, I have arranged for the subjects to arrive this morning. They are to dine and socialise with us so we might observe their movements before the procedure." Hanover says. "Thus, it will be easier to catch changes in behaviour afterwards."

Those poor women, Gwendolyn think, who's only mistake was to love. She imagines them, so scared, as their carriage rumbles towards this damned manor. It _hurts._

"Once they arrive, feel free to ask them as many questions as you like. This is a rare opportunity to experience a medical miracle, so please, make the most of it." Hanover smiles, and Gwendolyn _hates_ him, hates everything he stands for.

Silently aching, Gwendolyn begins to think of a plan. She will not allow these women to suffer anymore than they already have. She will set them free.

"Oh!" Hanover claps. She can hear the sound of a carriage, pulling up outside of the manor, and all of the guests rise from their chairs and leave their breakfast behind. "Here they are."

But as the subjects are welcomed, and the manor fills with noise and conversation, Gwendolyn finds herself clutching her chest as if it's physically pained. Without a single eye catching her she slips quickly from the crowd and finds her way to her bedchamber on shaky legs.

How often had she been forced to live in the shadows? Gwendolyn hadn't asked for this life, not once, but it came to her. How cruel, that she should be cast under the label of _woman,_ and disadvantaged. What torture, to love women, and yet be forbidden from her own heart. Gwendolyn didn't think it would affect her so much. She thought she could bear it, after so many years of living like this, holding her lovers' hands in the dark and smiling politely to the people she was supposed to. Yet the pain never fades.

Gwendolyn sits on the end of her bed, and cries, and cries. But no one hears it - her sadness is a ghost, and remains unseen. For how long, Gwendolyn doesn't know, but it feels like she will be alone like this forever.


	12. a wilted rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Gwendolyn... are you alright?"
> 
> Gwendolyn turns to look at her. Those eyes that usually sparkle are so dark and guarded, though still just as pretty in the moonlight. Mildred's dress flows around her ankles and she tugs at its sleeves, nervous when confronted with Gwendolyn's direct gaze.
> 
> "Yes, thank you." Gwendolyn says, a thinly veiled lie, before looking away again.

"Good morning." Gwendolyn says warmly, to Doctor Hanover's subjects.

She looks down at the two women, who are sitting outside in the early morning, watching the sunrise turn pink and orange together. Gwendolyn's eyes flicker to their intertwined fingers, holding on tightly. They must be scared, Gwendolyn thinks. Their knuckles are almost white. When they grip each other, like that, Gwendolyn can't tell where one hand starts and the other ends.

"Oh, hello! I don't think we've been introduced." The younger of the two subjects says. She's blonde, and shy. "I'm Lily Cartwright."

"Ingrid Blix." The older says. Her voice is melodic, and her lined face is full of joy and warmth, even in a situation like this.

"Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn Briggs." Gwendolyn would hold out her hand for them to shake it, but she doesn't want to separate their touch. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The two women smile. Gwendolyn has wished to speak to them since they arrived. But now that she's here, hovering in front of them in a dress that is vibrant and expensive compared to their servant-wear, she feels out of place. She feels like she's _intruding_ on them. They have the type of love that is intimate, in every moment. Gwendolyn is both jealous of them and desperately sad for them.

"Is there something you wish to ask us?" Lily asks. She is paler and less vibrant than Ingrid. She seems uncertain, her eyes flickering to and from Gwendolyn's gaze.

"The doctors have been back and forth with all sorts of questions." Ingrid shudders.

Gwendolyn smiles down at them. She wishes to pull them to her chest in a tight hug that says, _I know how it feels_. She wishes to escape with them. But she's so used to hiding in the shadows that stepping into the light, even just for a moment, would be terrifying.

"I am no doctor." Gwendolyn says firmly, "And for what it's worth, I don't believe in this procedure, either."

"Well, that's the first time I've heard that." Ingrid says curiously. "Can I ask why?"

"It is because I-" Gwendolyn swallows. It's the first time she'll have said it aloud, to a stranger. "Because I am like you. I only desire women."

The couple pauses. Lily's nervous eyes soften, while Ingrid's face splits into the brightest, warmest smile, that rises like the sun behind Gwendolyn.

"Well! Fancy that." Ingrid laughs.

"I never thought there were other women like me." Lily says quietly, "Until lately."

"Yes." Gwendolyn remembers that feeling, that loneliness. "Yes, I know."

Gwendolyn hovers for a moment, in their shared solidarity, wishing she never had to leave this comfortable bubble. But she must. She doesn't belong here, she can't fit herself between their intimate love.

"I hope it doesn't work." Gwendolyn says, in a small voice. "The surgery."

"Me too." Ingrid murmurs.

She feels so helpless. If only she could help, without risking her reputation, and the success her and Trevor have built for themselves. Gwendolyn's heart hurts as she turns away without saying a polite goodbye. A part of her has wilted, like the fairest rose. Why is the world so cruel, Gwendolyn thinks, her eyes stinging with tears.

*

Gwendolyn has always stood out to Mildred because of how completely fearless she is.

The woman is a force of nature. Her eyes blaze with strength and good humour. Her posture is straight: she doesn't cower, never slumps her shoulders. She speaks with a firmness so convincing you can do nothing but listen. Mildred thinks that the only reason she is so close with Gwendolyn now is because Gwendolyn was stubborn enough to break through her defences, chipping at the walls until, eventually, they crumbled into rubble.

Mildred has always admired this about her. The governess herself tends not to rebel, though she has that sort of spirit, deep inside. Gwendolyn, though, is the type of person Mildred wishes she could be. Bold and bright as the burning sun.

Which is why Gwendolyn's behaviour tonight unsettles Mildred so much.

In the dark music hall, surrounded by shadowed faces, Mildred sits back in her chair, looking up at the stage which Gwendolyn usually commandeers. Tonight the lights make her look pale and tired, and the shadows under her eyes are not hidden by her makeup. Her acting, rather than being an extension of herself, is so obviously a performance, and her smiles are hiding secrets Mildred doesn't know. Her voice trembles when she sings. Frail as a pulled rope, about to snap. She looks so... small.

The rest of the crowd, Mildred thinks, hardly notice it. They're drunk and in good cheer, so Gwendolyn's music just makes them louder and raucous. They don't see the lack of light in Gwendolyn's eyes. Mildred, though, has studied Gwendolyn's performances intently.

So she knows something is wrong.

Her hands crossed on her lap, music pounding in her ears, Mildred remembers their carriage journey here. It had been so quiet. Though Mildred doesn't mind silence, especially the comfortable, warm silences Gwendolyn brings with her, tonight it had felt like the noise had been sucked out of the carriage, and all they were left with was a dark silence Mildred couldn't understand.

She feels a twinge in her heart. _Worry._ It's another sign, Mildred thinks, of how Gwendolyn has become a person she treasures so dearly. To see Gwendolyn act so unlike herself is- startling, and painful. Worrying about someone is more hurtful than Mildred had thought it would be .

The last song comes to a close that is far from satisfying.

Tonight, Gwendolyn forgets to throw her rose. Mildred's heart sinks - Gwendolyn just seems relieved to get away from the stage, and leaves without a real goodbye. Mildred hands lay empty, without that lovely blooming flower she's come to expect to receive every week in her palms. She misses the smell of roses all of a sudden, discontent.

Mildred stands quickly and pushes through the loud, unrelenting crowd towards the dressing room. She remembers the route, from when Gwendolyn had taken her here. If only she can find her, and insist Gwendolyn tells her what's wrong, what she can do to help-

When she reaches the bustling dressing room Gwendolyn is nowhere to be seen. Mildred searches for Huck, instead.

"Huck?" She asks, tugging on the man's sleeve. He turns to her, and gives her a smile.

"Mildred! It's good to see you." Huck says, "If you're looking for Gwen, she just left."

Mildred nods. She hasn't the time for pleasantries. It feels as if worry is the only feeling she's ever had, as it creeps up the back of her neck.

"Look out for her, will you?" Huck asks. He has a similar concern in his cheeks, warm by his eyes. "She doesn't seem herself lately. I'll see you back at the manor."

Mildred barely acknowledges this. She slips away from the dressing room, checking the balcony before finally slipping back out into the crowds. Eventually she reaches the street, the cold air blissful when compared to the hot, stifling atmosphere within the music hall. Mildred hardly notices it, her only thought _Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn._

She sighs with relief when she spots the woman, smoking a cigar against the wall.

"Gwendolyn." Mildred says softly. She can feel the light touch of rain in the air, barely real, but chilling against the skin of Mildred's face. She steps closer, under the stars, to where Gwendolyn stands motionless. "There you are."

Gwendolyn looks up at her, and smiles thinly. Her eyes haven't crinkled as much, lately. Mildred's heart twinges.

"Here I am." Gwendolyn says, blowing out smoke. She's still in the suit she performed in, a few buttons undone, though the makeup has been smudged on her face as if she's ran her hand over it repeatedly.

Mildred goes to stand beside her, hoping to be a close comfort.

"You left so suddenly."

"I did." Gwendolyn murmurs, "I just needed a little fresh air."

"I see." Mildred pauses. "Oh, Gwendolyn. Are you alright?"

Gwendolyn turns to look at her. Those eyes that usually sparkle are so dark and guarded, though still just as pretty in the moonlight. Mildred's dress flows around her ankles and she tugs at its sleeves, nervous when confronted with Gwendolyn's direct gaze.

"I'm fine, thank you." Gwendolyn says, a thinly veiled lie, before looking away again.

"Only, you don't seem very much like yourself, lately." Mildred says, "Is there something bothering you?"

Gwendolyn swallows, a flutter of her throat beneath the loose tie she wore for the performance.

"Nothing at all. Thank you, though, for your concern." Gwendolyn manages a small smile, while Mildred raises an eyebrow. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm _fine_ , Mildred."

Mildred purses her lips.

"You don't believe me." Gwendolyn says, a hint of her old amusement brightening her voice.

"You're a good actor," Mildred says, "But not a good liar."

There, there, those crinkles beside Gwendolyn's eyes - how does Mildred keep them there?

"Do I take that as a compliment, or an insult?" Gwendolyn teases. Mildred brightens, meeting Gwendolyn's eyes under the night sky as their carriage rumbles up in front of them.

"Both." Mildred decides.

"You once said you didn't mean to compliment me."

"I was quite dreadful, back then, wasn't I?" Mildred giggles. She steps towards the carriage, and holds out her hand impulsively. She delights in how Gwendolyn takes it in her own. Gwendolyn steps into the carriage first, with Mildred's help, and Mildred thinks, _yes, yes, rely on me for once._

In the carriage once the door is closed, and they're safe from the cold night, Mildred leans forward on her knees to force Gwendolyn to meet her eyes.

"I assure you, Gwendolyn," She says, warmly, "There are many compliments I could give you, if I were not so reserved."

Gwendolyn's smile grows brighter, and brighter, as if a sunrise. If Mildred can't figure out what has made her so upset, then bringing her joy is the next best thing - and anyway, what could be better than Gwendolyn's smile on a night like this, with the full moon high in the sky.

"Oh?" Gwendolyn asks, "Such as?"

Mildred smiles coyly and says nothing.

"You mean to tease me, Mildred."

"Certainly not." Mildred says, feigning shock, and Gwendolyn chuckles. Brighter and brighter, still. "You know, I used to think you'd be impossible to tease, but that isn't the case."

"It isn't?"

"You're actually rather shy, Miss Briggs." Mildred says. She doesn't recognise her own voice, fond, teasing. _Flirting._ "You're too soft."

Gwendolyn chuckles again.

"Once again, I have to know. Is that an insult, or a compliment?"

"It's an observation."

Gwendolyn's eyes glint, like the moon in the trees. Her smile is wide and pretty and Mildred vows to herself that she'll find a way to make it stay there, on her mouth, permanently.

"And do you observe me often, Mildred?" She drawls, and Mildred turns a little pink.

"W-Well, I observe everyone I meet." Mildred says, as the carriage rumbles beneath her. "Though I must admit, my conclusions about others are not often as positive as the ones I've drawn about you."

"Well, I'm flattered." Gwendolyn says. "Please, feel free to continue your research. Do let me know what you find."

They fall into a comfortable silence. Mildred feels a spark of delight at the thought she had helped ease Gwendolyn's sadness, just a little. That Gwendolyn, a wilted rose, might go strong and bloom again... The thought is reassuring.

Moved by her own emotions, Mildred reaches forward and takes one of Gwendolyn's hands between two of hers. Gwendolyn's easy smile fades.

"There is little use in keeping problems to yourself, Gwendolyn" Mildred says gently, "If you don't set them free they'll swallow you. That's what poetry is for - letting it out."

Gwendolyn looks down at their hands, that Mildred is holding so sweetly. Her thumb brushes over the back of Gwendolyn's hand, a comforting, precious little touch.

"So you must talk to me, darling." Mildred says, almost a plea. "You must."

"Oh, Mildred." Gwendolyn says. "If only I could."

Mildred pangs with hurt. It's not her own, she thinks, it's Gwendolyn's, as if they share one heart. They feel the same pain.

"What bothers you so?" Mildred asks. Gwendolyn shakes her head.

"I mustn't tell you. Mildred, I can't-" Gwendolyn swallows, "There's too much at stake."

Mildred pats the back of Gwendolyn's hand.

"Aren't I your friend?" Mildred asks. She doesn't mean it to be accusatory, but gentle. "Do you not trust me?"

Gwendolyn's face contorts with her pain.

"I'm sorry." Is all she says.

"You can confide in me whatever you wish. I will not judge you."

Gwendolyn's eyes flutter shut.

"You mustn't be so kind to me." She murmurs, "For when I tell you, soon, the truth, you will despise me."

Mildred smiles and squeezes Gwendolyn's hands. She doesn't know of Gwendolyn's troubles, she doesn't understand what pains the other woman so, but she does feel closer to her now. Even if she's eased Gwendolyn's pain just a little, that's enough.

"I could never." Mildred says, sincerely, "Nothing in the world could hinder my regard for you."

"You will regret those words, one day." Gwendolyn says, with certainty.

How could she ever, when Gwendolyn is her favourite person in the world? Mildred just holds on to her hand, and prays Gwendolyn's sunshine returns to her soon.

*

Trevor's hand, stroking softly through Gwendolyn's hair, grounds her.

She sits on the bed, her shoulders slumped. She knows the shadows of the night are unflattering on her face and she doesn't care - Gwendolyn is close to tears as she lets her friend soothe her, and for once she lets herself be vulnerable with someone. Trevor is the only person who could understand this pain, that wounds like the cuts of a knife in her chest. She's sure he feels it too.

"I've spoken to them. Many times, in fact." Gwendolyn says, with a thick voice.

"Do you mean Hanover's subjects?" Trevor asks. The brightness of his voice never wavers, but Gwendolyn always knows when its a pretence.

"Yes. They're such lovely young women." Gwendolyn says, biting her lip. They had reminded her of herself, when she was younger. Oh, how lovely it was to talk to women like herself, in the drawing room and the gardens. But how cruel that Hanover is going to take their love, their _identities,_ from them.

"Their names are Lily, and Ingrid," Gwendolyn continues, her voice trembling, "They're quite in love with each other, you know, and they're such _spirited_ young women. Lily is bold and clever. Ingrid has the most gorgeous singing voice. She's suited for opera, I think. And watching them together is so- is so-"

Gwendolyn had been so envious, of their easy affection, their shared desire. Because they had been found out they had nothing to hide.

Gwendolyn wishes she could experience that, for just a moment, even if it cost her life. That openness. That freedom.

"You're attached to them." Trevor observes.

"How could I not be, Trevor? They're just like us." Gwendolyn asks, and Trevor falls silent for a moment.

"I'm so sorry, Gwen." He finally says, "We shouldn't have come here. It was a foolish decision on my part-"

"On _our_ part." Gwendolyn interrupts. "But I agree. Being here has brought me nothing but trouble, and the people are so damned _unpleasant._ "

She hears Trevor's teasing smile, rather than seeing it, when he speaks next. It's in his voice, filling the room with the ghost of laughter.

"But what about your Miss Ratched? She doesn't make up for the ills you've suffered?"

"Oh, Trevor. I'll admit, she's delightful, and she's rather fond of me now, you know. We've grown rather close."

"Isn't that what you wanted? Why do you sound so gloomy about it?"

"Because- Because she isn't _mine._ " Gwendolyn bursts out. "Because it had been a fun game, until we became friends, and I realised that it is so painful to hide yourself from someone you- care about. It's so _exhausting,_ to live like this, isn't it?"

Trevor's hands still in her hair and rest on the back of her shoulders, instead. They squeeze.

"Then why not come clean?" Trevor asks. "Tell her everything. Free yourself of this pain."

"For selfish reasons." Gwendolyn admits. "I don't want to lose her. I would rather fake a friendship than not have her at all."

"Then you are a fool." Trevor chuckles, "And you of all people should know that the truth has a nasty habit of coming out, whether you want it to or not."

"Yes." Gwendolyn sighs, "It's only a matter of time before it all falls apart."

Soon they will wilt, like the flower Gwendolyn had forgotten to throw to Mildred. Like flowers when the weather grows colder. There's only so long, Gwendolyn thinks sadly, that a rose can survive, before it loses its colour.

*

Another of the many problems with Mildred's job is the complete lack of privacy she has as a governess.

If she is to simply go to the kitchen for a cup of tea, or something to eat, she runs the risk of being discovered by a guest - who, in good cheer, might inquire about the manor or ask her to do something for them, as if they themselves were hiring her. Mildred always grits her teeth and smiles politely and does not show discontent, though she usually feels it burning within her. It's always been easier to pretend, after all.

So, as she boils water one evening, Mildred prays that no one enters the room and disturbs her. She wishes only for a warm brew and a deep, undisturbed sleep, not for pretences of politeness. The room fills with the sound of the pan boiling, the hiss of water as it heats, and she tries to relax, but grimaces every time she hears footsteps pass the dark kitchen.

Just as Mildred thinks she might have gotten lucky, the door opens.

"Perfect." Mildred mutters to herself.

It's then that a familiar face peeks around the doorway. Charles Wainwright gives Mildred a curious look, as well dressed and handsome as always. He steps into the doorway, a large and imposing figure.

"Why, if it isn't Mildred Ratched!" He says, delighted as if he's just discovered a treasure. Mildred smiles. At least it's one of the more pleasant guests, and not Hanover.

"Good evening, Mr. Wainwright."

"Please, call me Charles. I insist." Charles gives her that boyish smile again, sheepish joy and teeth. "May I come in?"

"Yes, of course. I was just making a brew."

"Well, I'd love one, if you don't mind."

Mildred nods. The tall man steps inside of the room, peering curiously at the nooks and crannies in the kitchen, before coming to stand beside her. He looks over her shoulder at the bubbling water, and she smells his expensive cologne, and sees the glint of a gorgeous pocket watch when he takes it from his suit to check the time.

"You're not going to join us in the drawing room?" Charles asks, "Doctor Hanover is sharing his thoughts on poetry."

"Oh, dear." Mildred laughs, forgetting her position for a moment, "Is it quite humiliating?"

"Do not be so harsh on him." Charles says, but chuckles. "Some women might find it charming. But not you, it seems."

"No." Mildred agrees, turning back to the boiling water. Richard Hanover is as far from charm as Mildred is to declaring her love for him. "But I do think there is one woman who finds him quite charming..."

"Oh, do you mean Miss Osgood?" Charles laughs, "Yes, there are rumours. I find them amusing, but entirely possible. Our crowd is full of gossip."

"Ah." Mildred hums in agreement, an invitation to continue.

"Apparently," Charles says, "Dolly was caught in a, uh, compromising position with the _gardener,_ of all people."

"Ed- Earl?" Mildred laughs. She was under the impression he resented everyone in a higher station than him - which Mildred could relate to. But then again, she adored Gwendolyn, and Gwendolyn was most definitely richer than her. There's always room for nuance. "Well, isn't that something?"

"But enough of that. What about you?" Charles asks, leaning against the counter. He's too close, filling up her space. "Is there no gentleman here who's caught your eye?"

"Certainly not, Mr. Wainwright."

"Well, I'm pleased." Charles says. "I have you all to myself."

The words settle. Mildred blinks and looks up at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't be coy, Mildred." Charles says. He smiles slowly, lit by the low lamps in the kitchen, and pulls out a cigar that he lights. "You must know by now of my interest in you."

"I'm sorry?"

"You mean you do not know?" Charles chuckles, taking a drag of his cigar, "I've found myself quite in awe of you, you know. I see you at every mealtime, and you're rather distracting. Bewitching, I think, is the right word. I thought it was obvious what I wanted, from the first moment I saw you."

"I-I'm flattered, sir." Mildred says. She's startled when Charles reaches for her hand, and she pulls away quickly, not wishing for him to touch her. She _should_ be flattered that such a gentleman has an interest in her, especially when they have such a huge difference in status. Charles would surely be frowned upon if he married her. Shouldn't this be romantic?

Mildred feels nothing but uncomfortable. It prickles across the skin underneath her dress.

"I wish to court you." Charles admits, "I know there are rumours about me. But I will stay loyal to you, Mildred, I'll change. I promise you this. I am willing to give up my status, my family's expectations, and my honour to get to know you better. So will you go to dinner with me?"

Mildred pours the water into two mugs, feeling slightly faint. How does she respond to this? How does she explain that she feels nothing for him, despite the fact he's a kind and polite gentleman, who would treat her well, and give her far more than she's used to? Mildred has no inheritance, no potential suitors. She won't get a chance like this again.

Yet her spirit screams at her to deny it. She can't torture this man by pretending to have feelings she doesn't actually have.

Mildred has spent her entire life staying in line with polite society. For once, for the first time, she listens to her heart.

"I apologise, Mr. Wainwright." Mildred says, steadily, looking into his eyes. She can afford him that, at least. "I cannot reciprocate your feelings, nor can I dine with you."

Charles blinks.

"You can't?"

"Not if I wish for us both to be happy."

Charles shakes his head and steps away from her, blowing smoke into the air.

"Is there someone you have feelings for?" He asks, more perplexed than hurt. He probably isn't used to having his requests denied, Mildred thinks, almost amused.

"There is not." Mildred denies. It feels like a lie. "I just cannot enter into such a relationship with you."

"Well then." Charles shrugs. "That's that."

They look at each other for a moment, both pale and startled, before Charles clears his throat. He scuffs his feet on the kitchen floor, and Mildred feels sad to see his disappointment. The pain, too, when he looks up again. What must it be like, to long for someone, and not have it reciprocated, Mildred thinks.

All the best poems are about that: love that is as hopeless as a wilting flower.

"Good evening, then, Miss Ratched." Charles says.

"Yes. Enjoy your night, sir."

Once Charles has left Mildred lets out a long breath she didn't know she was holding. She makes her brew then steps from the kitchen with it warm between her palms.

As she steps through the hallways, moonlight shimmering on the surface of the carpet, Mildred considers Charles Wainwright's offer. If she had accepted his confession, against the will of her heart, how would it have been? A life without love. A marriage without the passion and earth splitting love of poetry - at least, on her side.

Mildred's thoughts halt when she steps past Hanover's office and hears rustling from inside.

That can't be right, she thinks, slowly stepping towards the door, she only just passed him in the drawing room. Mildred presses her ear to the door. There's definitely someone inside. Her heart rate grows faster. Is it the thief, taking advantage of the social occasions to grab whatever he can?

With a hesitant, shaking hand, Mildred summons her bravery and pushes open the door.

There, she finds Edmund, rummaging in a cupboard. He stands when he sees her, his eyes twinkling. He is so unconcerned by her interrupting his activities that Mildred is almost fearful of him. There is nothing more disturbing than a calm face, in the midst of crisis.

But she's never been scared of Edmund.

The thief lifts a finger to his lips, as if to say, _don't tell._ It's another one of his secrets.

And Mildred... Mildred smiles.

*

Gwendolyn doesn't wish to leave the bedchamber, ever again.

Underneath the covers she is safe and warm, blankets up to her nose, tucked into a comforting space that despair can't find its way into. When she closes her eyes there is no pretence, only the sight of a weary woman who is tired of acting.

She hadn't thought Hanover's experiment would affect her so much. But ever since the women arrived she's been out of sorts, miserable. She still remembers their lovely faces, their intertwined hands. Soon, that will be taken from them. The two of them are lying together now, in the manor, Gwendolyn thinks. She can't tell whether she's jealous of them, or whether she despairs for them.

Either way, it hurts. Gwendolyn finds herself wishing it was her, who was having her brain prodded and poked at. Perhaps it could remove emotion from her. Perhaps they could take out her heart.

Trevor is hurting, too. Gwendolyn sees it, though he tries to hide it under his usual smiles. They should go, Gwendolyn thinks, how can they stay any longer, in a hell like this? But it is only polite, to stay. Hanover will set the date of the procedure soon.

This was such a bad idea, Gwendolyn thinks, clenching her eyes shut. When will she find a world where she can be free?

There's a calm, sharp knock on her bedroom door. It sounds, Gwendolyn thinks, like Mildred.

She sits up, the covers slipping from her torso, and she's greeted by the sudden cold. The rapping on the door comes again, that same, steady rhythm.

"Gwendolyn?" The sweet voice calls, and Gwendolyn sighs. If only she could turn Mildred away. "I know you're there."

Gwendolyn huffs out a laugh and stands. She finds her way to the door and opens it, tearstains still red on her cheeks, though she forces a huge smile onto her face.

"Mildred!" Gwendolyn says. Her delight is not all a performance - she could never not be delighted by Mildred's presence. But the governess also brings her pain, too. "What are you doing here?"

"I hope it is not improper of me, to call on you." Mildred says. She holds out a bottle of wine, smiling. "But I was worried about you. I thought you might want company."

"You continue to surprise me." Gwendolyn says. Mildred is as unexpected as a sudden storm, Gwendolyn thinks. And just as dangerous. She's standing there, in the doorway, with hopeful eyes, in her same usual dress. Her hair is down, flowing prettily around her face. Mildred is- Mildred is _everything._ She had come here, of her own will, for the very first time.

She had sought Gwendolyn out, just because she was worried about her. Is this the same Mildred, who used to be so distant from her? Now she's as close as the rain, which hammers on the glass windows.

Gwendolyn takes the wine bottle from the governess, and their fingers brush _._ Gwendolyn's heart feels as if it's collapsing. It hasn't been her own for quite a while, now.

"Well, I could never say no to you, Mildred. Please, come in."

Mildred smiles and steps inside. She brushes past Gwendolyn and looks around the bedroom, curious as always, and Gwendolyn follows her and sets the bottle of wine shakily down on the counter.

"Where did you get this?" Gwendolyn asks. It's an expensive brand. She saw a few of these bottles in Hanover's liquor cabinet.

"Oh- it was a gift. I thought we might share it." Mildred says evasively. She turns, and her eyes are haunting and dark in the evening, and Gwendolyn can't free herself from them. "Are you well, darling?"

Darling, darling. Gwendolyn's heart clenches. When had she got so caught up in Mildred Ratched?

"I am." Gwendolyn says weakly, sitting on the edge of her bed. Mildred hovers in front of her, like an angel in the night, and Gwendolyn turns her face away.

"You're not very convincing." Mildred says. She bends down to kneel in front of Gwendolyn, and her teasing smile turns impossibly gentle. She sets her hands on Gwendolyn's knees. "Tell me what troubles you. I can still see the traces of tears on your cheeks, you know."

Gwendolyn shakes her head, and Mildred reaches forward and brushes her fingertips along the red patches on Gwendolyn's skin. There are still faint wounds, on Mildred's face, from the carriage crash. Gwendolyn wishes she could reach down and kiss them.

"You are not well." Mildred murmurs, so very sweet and kind, the best friend anyone could ask for. Gwendolyn- Gwendolyn is selfish. Her lip trembles as Mildred's hands settle back into Gwendolyn's lap. "Oh, Gwendoyln, you must speak to me. Please, let me share your suffering with you."

Gwendolyn's eyes have started to sting again.

"Damn it." Gwendolyn says, rubbing at her eyes. She cannot cry. She can't show weakness, and especially not to Mildred, who she wishes to impress with her confidence, her strength.

"You are in such pain." Mildred sighs, "But why?"

"I can't tell you."

"Of course you can."

"Mildred, I _can't._ "

"Yes, you can-"

"I cannot!" Gwendolyn raises her voice, a burst of emotion. Her breathing calms when Mildred pats her thighs, gentle and soothing.

"Surely nothing can be so terrible. If it is a secret, I'll keep it in confidence. If it is a sin, I will forgive it. Do you see? Nothing could be so shocking as to make me leave you, Gwendolyn." Mildred smiles. Gwendolyn wants to believe it, but she can't. There is only so much pain she can take, before she splits apart.

"Do not give me your kindness." Gwendolyn's voice cracks. A tear slips down her cheek. "Because you will soon remove it, and then what will I do?"

"Why would I?" Mildred seems almost amused by this, "You underestimate me, my friend."

Gwendolyn falls silent. It is then that she realises that it couldn't possibly hurt any more than it already does. To live her life in secret, to see other women suffer like her just because of who they love... isn't that already painful enough? She can survive Mildred leaving her. She can survive anything. She is Gwendolyn Briggs.

So she'll set this pain free.

"Do you know of Doctor Hanover's procedure, Mildred?" Gwendolyn asks quietly. Her heart races, but she's brave, she's brave. As brave as a wilted flower, knowing it's about to die. She should savour Mildred's gentle eyes, while she can.

"The lobotomy? Yes, of course."

"And what do you think of it?"

Mildred blinks, confused.

"Well, I-" She considers this, and then they come, those words she has feared Mildred would say to her all along. "I think Doctor Hanover is rather experienced in the field of medicine, despite appearances. His idea is genius."

"Ha. You think it right, to play God? To try and change other people?"

"Well, rather than changing them, you are removing a sin. It is beneficial to the patient's health."

"What sin are you taking from them, exactly, Mildred? Take Ingrid and Lily, the subjects, for example. Do you find two women loving each other so repellent, that all desire should be removed from them?"

"Well, yes, of course." Mildred frowns. She seems startled by Gwendolyn's harsh tone. "Their feelings for one another are unnatural. They're _wrong."_

_Silence,_ while Gwendolyn wilts.

"So that is what you truly think of me. I should have expected it." Gwendolyn laughs, bitterly. Of course it would turn out like this. She'd known it all along. "Am I unnatural and wrong to you, Miss Ratched?"

Mildred blinks, a realisation crossing her face.

"What- What do you mean?" Mildred asks, carefully. "I do not understand."

"The rumours about me are true. Those desires that are to you so _wrong_ to you are feelings I hold myself." Gwendolyn says. "I want other women. I wish to give my heart only to them. So am I unnatural? Do you wish now to remove those parts of me, in such a cruel way?"

The silence that follows these words is painstaking. Mildred has went pale, and she stands, her hand fluttering to the collar of her shirt nervously. In the darkness they look at one another and despite all of it, Gwendolyn feels free now. It has been exhausting pretending hiding her identity doesn't hurt, that it doesn't make her angry. She will be sorry, to lose Mildred. The time they spent together has been- has been-

The time they spent together has been some of the most special days in Gwendolyn's life.

"I am sorry, but I do not wish to live a lie any longer. If you are to be my friend, then be so with the knowledge of who I really am." Gwendolyn says sharply, "Or else leave me here."

Mildred stares at her.

"Is this why you befriended me, Gwendolyn?" Mildred asks, in a small voice. "Did you simply wish to _seduce_ me? Was our friendship an... act?"

Gwendolyn laughs humourlessly. It had started like that, sure, but...

"So that is what you think of me." She says. It's over, she thinks. Inside, she breaks. On the surface, though, Gwendolyn is angry and immoveable. Mildred has never seen this side of her. "Do you think I do not care for you, as my friend? Do you think women like me are so wicked that we wouldn't be able to control ourselves?"

"Well, I-"

"You have made yourself clear." Gwendolyn says. Hard, unyielding. She can't read Mildred's face, either. "I'm sorry, Mildred, that I approached you."

"Don't say that." Mildred says, sharply.

They consider each other in the silence, quietly re-evaluating how they see each other. In the darkness there is only the promise of new beginnings, and what they hold Gwendolyn doesn't know. But even now, after everything, she feels the tiniest glitter of hope as she looks into Mildred's face. Like a wilting flower holding onto its last petal, she doesn't want their life together to end.

"I have one thing left to say to you." Gwendolyn says quietly. "If you are the woman that I hope you are, then you will change your mind about women like me. You will not stop our friendship because of this. You will- come back to me."

Gwendolyn inhales. She hopes. 

"If you are not who I think you are, then our acquaintance is over. I will leave you." Gwendolyn says, "But I think we _both_ know that the type of person you are isn't the one who stood in front of me and said my feelings are wrong, and unnatural. Or at least, that's what I'd like to believe."

Mildred opens her mouth, and closes it again. Gwendolyn wants to believe it, no matter how much it hurts.

"Now, leave me. Come to me when you are ready." Gwendolyn says.

"But I-"

"Please, Mildred." Gwendolyn says, her voice louder than before, "I wish to be alone now."

There's another pause before Mildred nods curtly.

"Goodnight." She says. Her face is pale and unreadable as she turns away, her hair soft around her shoulders, her posture poised and perfect as always. If there was only a way to know the feelings swirling around in Mildred's mind, Gwendolyn thinks. If only it was not all so complicated.

Alone in the dark, Gwendolyn thinks one thing. _Come back to me._

*

Mildred slams the door of her bedchamber behind her and slides down it.

She tucks her knees up to her chin as she sits on the floor, her heart pounding in her ears. Of all the things she had expected it was not that Gwendolyn- loved _women._ In hindsight it made sense. The rumours held some truth, after all. But the realisation has shaken her, and now it rattles around in her bones.

There are women who wish to be with other women. There are good, strong, _kind_ women like Gwendolyn who simply desire the fairer sex. If Gwendolyn is allowed to feel this way, if Gwendolyn can be so brave and tell the truth of her heart, then maybe... maybe... maybe Mildred is allowed to, as well.

Mildred has never been stupid. She has been aware, for a while now, of the less than friendly feelings growing inside of her for Gwendolyn Briggs. There is no way to explain the feelings Gwendolyn continues to inspire inside of her, lighting up Mildred's insides as if striking her heart like a match. Memories of staring at Gwendolyn and touching her and growing closer to her flash before her eyes. Mildred buries her face in her knees. She had thought those sorts of feelings wrong, and unnatural. She'd said it, to Gwendolyn's face, and wounded both of them with the words. But what if she allowed herself to-

Panic curls on Mildred's shoulders. Tomorrow, she thinks desperately, she'll accept Charles Wainwright's invitation for dinner. She will try to _feel_ with him, desire and attraction and interest, and rid herself finally of the desires that she knows she has been ignoring within her. And if she cannot...

Then Mildred is just like Gwendolyn. She holds the same desires.

But Gwendolyn is mistaken about one thing, Mildred thinks. Even if she didn't understand Gwendolyn's feelings she would not leave her because of it. She trusts Gwendolyn. Before any other feeling is the loyalty and compassion of true friendship. Nothing could wound it, or change it. They are bound for life now, Mildred thinks, for better or for worse. 

Soon enough Mildred will know and accept the truth of herself. And just like Gwendolyn, she will not hide from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well...


	13. confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is someone you are in love with, after all, isn't there?" Charles asks.
> 
> He looks at her as if he can see the feelings and fantasies inside of Mildred. All of her desires suddenly seem like they're written on her face, painted in her pink cheeks.
> 
> Mildred smiles.

Mildred clears her throat.

Her pale, slender fingers rest in her lap, one hand folded over the other. As always, she feels out of place. Her dull dress and brown bonnet stand out amongst the chandeliers, the expensive handkerchiefs, the sheen gloves pulled over rich women's fingers. Not only is she poorest woman here, but Mildred had forgotten how uncomfortable she was with strangers. Gwendolyn's company had never really made her feel this discomfort, nor this feeling that she's about to crawl out of her own skin.

Charles Wainwright is smoking a cigar at the table, one leg crossed over the other. Mildred tries to find something charming in his face, perhaps his sharp cheekbones or the way his suit sits snugly at his neck, but she can find nothing that tempts her.

Suits like these are more stunning on Gwendolyn. 

"I must say, I was surprised this morning when you suggested we dine together." He drawls. "You rejected me, did you not, just yesterday? Or were you simply being modest?"

Mildred imagines Gwendolyn's chuckle, at that. Modest? she'd laugh, Miss Ratched should be far from it.

"I had a change of heart, sir." Mildred says calmly, and takes a sip of wine.

He regards her, with one hand tapping absently on the table.

"Charles, please." He says, and gives her a smile. "So am I simply so charming that you could not help but regret denying me your company?"

Mildred giggles, as she's supposed to, but she is filled with the memory of Gwendolyn saying similar words. Am I just too charming to resist? The words taunt her, whispering in her ear in the restaurant, mingling with the sounds of conversation and polite laughter. 

"Well, I'm pleased. I've imagined sitting in a place like this with you often, Mildred." Charles says. Mildred doesn't know how he can smile so warmly, when there are gazes on them, cold and judging. Mildred is in her servants wear, after all. This is all she has. And she had not realised it, when with Gwendolyn, because Gwendolyn had made her feel-

Safe. Mildred had not known it until now.

"With all respect, sir, why am I here?" Mildred asks. "Because I am from a completely social world than you. Even if I were of a higher class, my quiet manner and stiff posture should put you off."

Charles laughs.

"But you're interesting." He says, "I wish to marry you because you're different, and thus I'd never get bored. All the women I've courted have been the same."

Mildred stiffen as she thinks of all of the unique women she knows. Clearly, she thinks, you were not looking close enough.

To know she is the object of someone's affection for the very same reason she dislikes herself is an uncomfortable feeling, too. How often she's thought she should be like the warm, lively ladies who please gentlemen, and are entertaining but submissive, interesting but... in line. Even now, there are not many women in the restaurant. Women are more suited to tea shops and drawing rooms. But here Mildred is, distinctly out of place.

"There are many interesting women." Mildred says, "And I'm convinced I would be the worst match for you out of them all."

"As do my family. But I think otherwise." Charles smiles at the waiter as their meals are placed in front of them. Mildred doesn't wish to eat, knowing he'll be paying for it, because she hasn't the money to spend on extravagant meals. "Is the only reason you hold back from me the fact that I am of a higher status than you?"

There are many things, Mildred thinks. The fact she can't feel safe or warm in his company. The fact that there is nothing in his face that inspires emotion in her. The fact that when she imagines her future she can't place him in it. With a gentleman like Charles Wainwright she'd have money, freedom, maybe even happiness. But Charles isn't- he isn't-

Mildred swallows.

"I'm not sure I hold any feelings for you," She admits. "Nor am I sure they would be stronger in future."

"Well. I'll admit, I'm quite in love with you. I will not disguise it. But you don't have to marry me out of love, Mildred." Charles says. He's eating as he talks, but Mildred leaves her plate full. "I wish for nothing but your company. You would not have to sacrifice anything for me, apart from your time. In return I will give you a comfortable home, freedom, and all of the books you could wish for. So you see, there is no obligation for you to love me. After all, how many marriages are arranged out of love?"

Well, Mildred imagines Gwendolyn whispering at her ear, that's not very romantic, is it?

"A fair bargain." Mildred says.

"Precisely."

"But how exactly can you, ah, be so in love with me, sir?" Mildred asks, and she's a little curious about this. "You have known me no more than a month. I have not told you about my life, nor my interests. You haven't gotten to know me. What's to say you wouldn't dislike my character, once you got to know it better?"

Charles shrugs. He's a careless sort of person, Mildred realises. When he runs a hand over his head, completely bald, she has the impression once again that he's boyish. Always behaving based on feeling, and never stopping to think of the consequences. He is a lot like Gwendolyn in this respect. Mildred wishes she had the reckless bravery they do.

"Our house would be big. There would be enough space to hide from you." Charles says, laughter in his voice. "And didn't I tell you to call me Charles? You are awfully formal."

"It is polite for me to address you properly. You, on the other hand-"

"I'm quite the rascal, I know." He laughs again, throwing back his head. He's loud, and imposing, but not in the way Gwendolyn is. Gwendolyn is a burning fame, pretty in how it flickers and flares brightly. This man... Mildred has no metaphor him. He simply fills up the space in the room. Mildred can't imagine spending her life with him.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Charles asks.

"Apologies, Mr. Wainwright. I've lost my appetite, recently."

"Not because of me, I hope."

Mildred shakes her head, just slightly.

"No, not at all. You're perfectly accommodating. You're the ideal gentleman, apart from of a few of your less sensible idiosyncrasies." Mildred teases.

"But?" Charles asks, setting down his fork. "There is a but somewhere, hiding in your words." 

"There is not, sir."

Charles leans across the table to place his hand over Mildred's, that is now resting on the table. His hand is warm, and large, and the sensation of his fingers over her own is completely unpleasant. Mildred gently slips her hand from beneath his, feeling stifled and uncomfortable. If she couldn't bear him to touch her, how could they be married? 

Charles blinks.

"You dislike me so much that I cannot even touch you?"

"I do not dislike you, sir."

"But you don't like me." Charles sighs.

"Well, I-"

"There is someone you are in love with, after all, isn't there?" Charles asks.

He looks at her as if he can see the feelings and fantasies inside of Mildred. All of her desires suddenly seem like they're written on her face, painted in her pink cheeks.

Mildred smiles. She can hear her heart in her ears, though, rushing like the waves. How can it be true, she thinks desperately, though she has known it all along. She cannot love Charles. Because- Because-

"Just because a woman rejects you, does not mean they are interested in another." Mildred says, "It simply means they are not interested in you."

"So you admit you mean to reject me! Then why did you bring me here?"

Mildred bites her lip. She takes in this room she can't fit into with Charles, and processes the way she sits stiffly in her chair, back against wood. She keeps glancing around as if looking for some sort of escape, but all she finds is waiters and polished boots. If only Gwendolyn would here. Only then could she enjoy a place like this.

"I wished it not to be true." Mildred whispers.

"I'm sorry?"

Mildred shakes her head.

"I wanted to like you, sir, I really did." Mildred frowns, wishing for nothing more than sleep. Why had she come here? "But I cannot."

"I have told you already, Mildred. You don't have to love me-" Charles is still smiling as if she's about to admit she was kidding, any minute now.

"What sort of companionship is that?" Mildred asks, with a bitter smile. Though it's impolite, she stands from her seat and brushes down her skirts. Lately she's cared little for these sorts of manners. She'd let Edmund give her a stolen wine. She'd listened to Gwendolyn confess her feelings for women. She's not the type of women she's supposed to be. "I know it has not been long since we left the manor, but I wish to return, if you please."

"Sit down." He pleads, "Please. We can-"

"I think I have made my position clear."

"How can you not want me? I am rich, and handsome, and skilled at my work-"

"Yet I cannot love you. It is simply a truth you must accept."

Charles frowns and stands too. He grips her wrist, desperate. Mildred supposes he must've thought she would submit to what he wants, eventually, as if women can be moulded and stretched into the shapes men wish them to be.

"Mr. Wainwright." Mildred says firmly, pulling out of his strong grip easily. "I wish to return to the manor. Do as I ask."

Charles' face changes. She is scared of the anger in his face, for just a moment. Then it fades, and Mildred still stands strong in the fact of his expression.

"Very well, Miss Ratched." He says, and turns from her without a second glance. She almost runs to keep up with his fast pace, all of the way to the carriage.

Once they are inside of it, he hardly says a word. Not even a polite thanks for the evening Mildred had spend with him.

Ah, Mildred thinks, so he is the type of man who only respects women who submit to him. She knows many like him, with Doctor Hanover being a notable example. It doesn't bother her. In the dark, cold carriage, that rumbles by, she imagines Gwendolyn beside her, and she's warm. And she is home.

*

Once the carriage has pulled up to the manor, there is a long period of silence. Charles looks at her.

"So you will not change your mind?" He says, stony faced. Mildred can see a hint of his pain, beneath the bravado, but there's nothing she can do about it. 

"I never will."

Charles shakes his head. His eyes are dark in the night sky, but not like Gwendolyn's. Gwendolyn's are hazy and warm, a perpetual twilight. Mildred finds nothing in Charles' eyes. But she supposes another one, a woman more suited to him, will, one day.

"Good riddance." He grumbles, "You know, you're not the only one. There are a bunch of women here that I've taken out to dinner. They'd all die to marry me. I don't need you."

Mildred laughs.

"So these are your true colours. Thank you, for explaining to me, sir." She says, and raises an eyebrow. "Please, leave. I'm sure there is another lady waiting for your company inside of the manor."

Charles scowls at her and jumps from the carriage. He walks away into the shadows without even helping her down, so Mildred ignores the footman's helping hand and hops down herself. She stumbles on the ground, staining the hem of her skirts with mud, but it's a satisfying feeling of freedom. Of peace. 

The dinner, despite everything, had been a good idea. Mildred had tried to enjoy his company, though she'd known it was a lost cause. She'd owed it to him, at least, to try. But it was in vain. When she looks at the starlight, overarching the manor, it's not Charles Wainwright she thinks of.

She almost jumps out of her skin when a shadow appears beside the carriage.

"Is this the carriage of Mr. Charles Wainwright?" Edmund drawls, looking up at the deep black carriage with a glint in his eyes that can only be described as hunger. 

"Good evening to you, too, Edmund."

"Don't tell me you went to dinner with him." Edmund shudders. He fits in amongst the shadows, as sly and sharp as them. Mildred doesn't fear him, though. In fact, she sees her own rebellious spark inside of him. His thievery just makes her think, oh, if only I were so bold.

"I'm afraid I did."

"Well, then, I hope you stole his pocket watch." 

Mildred giggles and presses Charles' pocket watch into Edmund's hand. Though he had not noticed it, she had taken it right from his suit in the dark, with the stealth and skill of a cat.

"Look at this thing." Edmund says, lifting it up so the watch catches the moonlight and illuminates it, "You're officially my partner in crime, Mildred."

"I'm certainly not. But he deserved it, in any case. That gentleman is quite pushy." Mildred pulls a face. Never before has she felt so mischevious and defiant. Freedom is clinging to her shoulders, and she feels so clear headed, so in control. "Though I don't doubt he meant well. I think he really does love me."

"I've told you before, they only want two things: money, and sex. I think you can guess which one your Charlie wants." Edmund cackles.

"Never mind that, Edmund. It's cold." Mildred says, "Can we walk back to the manor?"

So they stroll through the garden, towards the only home Mildred has ever known. Shadows touch them, illuminated only by the faint night sky, and the glowing windows of the manor. Mildred glances at Edmund, and sees even in the darkness the blisteringly red bruises around his throat.

"Were you injured?" Mildred asks.

"Nah."

Mildred raises an eyebrow, which turns his nonchalant expression amused.

"What happened, Edmund?"

"Oh, alright. Dolly's da caught me with her." Edmund's cheeks turn a little darker, at that. It turns out even he has a soft side, Mildred thinks. "Gripped me by the throat, he did."

"How on earth did you escape from that without being unscathed, or dismissed?"

"Told him I'd kill him if he touched me again." Edmund laughs.

Mildred blinks. For the first time, she feels slightly unsettled by him, and his easy recklessness. There's something low and dark in his voice that makes her thinks he's completely serious. Mildred has seen violence before. In the orphanage, and in the manor. She has even wanted to inflict it. But not with such delight, the way Edmund seems to.

"Don't look at me like that! I was just kidding." Edmund keeps laughing, but Mildred is swallowing her discomfort. Again and again she misses Gwendolyn's company. "Worked a treat, anyway. I don't think he'll bother us again."

"I thought people like her only wanted money and sex?"

"Hey, at least we're on the same page. We both want the same thing." Edmund gives her a sharp smile, and Mildred knows exactly what he means. She doesn't think Dolly is complicit in his robberies. No, this is more of an intimate affair.

"Ah." Mildred says, "Well, you've certainly been discreet."

"I've got no need for discretion, Miss." Edmund says. It's true. How he hasn't been discovered by now, Mildred doesn't know.

Eventually they reach the manor doors. As Edmund takes the steps, with his hands in his pockets, Mildred's eyes catch a figure by the doorway. They're leaning against the wall in the dark, blowing out smoke. For a moment Mildred thinks it's Gwendolyn, and her heart jumps. But as the shadows fade Mildred realises it's one of Hanover's subjects, alone in the dark, her hand trembling over the cigarette its holding.

"Comin'?" Edmund asks, looking back at her. Mildred shakes her head.

"Give me a moment." She says quietly.

Edmund shrugs and fades back into the shadows, a ghost as always. Mildred turns to the woman in silence. She steps closer, pale in the moonlight. She's never been one to approach strangers, but now, she steps closer still, the woman's hair and lined face coming into focus, as well as the plump cheeks and glittering eyes.

"Hello." Mildred says quietly. 

The woman looks up, her eyes dazed, as if coming out of a dream.

"I'm Mildred Ratched." Mildred says. She's still stiff in the company of people she doesn't know well, anxious and unconsciously cold, but she tries. She goes to stand beside the woman against the wall. "I'm the governess of this manor."

The woman gives her a slight nod. She's closed off to Mildred.

"Suppose you know who I am." She says, smiling bitterly. 

"What is your name?"

"Ingrid. Ingrid Blix." She blows out smoke. "Getting sick of these introductions, you knows."

"Yes, I can imagine." Mildred says. She can. "I've been paraded around people like them often. It is awful, to be shown off in a drawing room, like a prized possession, isn't it?"

The woman hums. 

"Come on, then." Ingrid says, after a moment of silence. 

"I'm sorry?"

"You clearly came here to interrogate me. So spit it out. What do you want to know?" Ingrid says, "I suppose a governess doesn't meet people like me often."

Mildred giggles.

"Oh, you'd be surprised." She says. "Anyway, I didn't come here to patronise you, or ask you meaningless questions. I came because you seemed so lonely, and I do not wish anyone to stand in the dark in solitude."

The woman glances at her in surprise.

"Tell me, why are you not with your lover?" Mildred asks. The word stings on her tongue. Lover, lover.

"Honestly? I'm scared." Ingrid sighs, into the night. "I know my feelings can never be removed from me. No surgery could do that. But what if Lily- what if she-"

Mildred shakes her head.

"There is no force on earth that can change a heart." 

"I struggle to believe it." Ingrid says, her mask crumbling. Mildred sees it in the moonlight, slipping away. How much pain she must be in, Mildred thinks. Hadn't Gwendolyn suffered like this? Hadn't Mildred herself felt this pain? "I dread the future. All I do now is count the days, until this is over."

In the dark, Mildred grips her hand.

"I will tell you a secret, if you promise to keep it." Mildred whispers, "I, too, have feelings for a woman that are so- beautiful. They are so beautiful and all encompassing. I have tried in vain to rid myself of them, but I cannot. They can cut open your head, but they will never change you. I promise you that."

Tears glitter on Ingrid's cheeks. Mildred's confession may stay in the night sky, never to be spoken again. But to Mildred it means everything, to finally open her heart, like a blooming flower. To finally look at her own feelings, and accept them, is a catharsis that can't be explained.

"Why must we live like this?" Ingrid murmurs. Mildred grips her hand tighter.

"I do not know that." Mildred confesses, "But we must bear it. We must."

*

Gwendolyn paces the kitchen in the dark.

It's the only place she can find solace from the frantic, dark thoughts that swirl and itch inside of her. Oh, if only she were not so bold and so reckless, so completely foolish. Gwendolyn curses herself. She should not have come here, just to watch women like her have their hearts pulled right from their ribcage. She should not have entertained Mildred, and resisted the governess as to protect her own heart. It's too late now.

Trevor has tried to speak to her. But she has avoided him, and every other guest in this damned manor who tries to seek her company. Gwendolyn's began to count the days until she can leave, but before that- before that is the procedure on those poor women. And before that she must witness Mildred's response. If Mildred is the type of woman who cannot be friends with her- cannot even look at her-

Gwendolyn swallows and continues pacing. She had seen them leave, earlier this evening, together. Mildred had taken Charles Wainwright's arm, and they had left. For dinner, Gwendolyn assumed. She'd witnessed it all from the dining room. And it had hurt as if she were being split open. Why- why must she bear a pain like this? Why was she even here, in this ridiculous manor?

"Would you stop that damned pacing?" A voice drawls from the doorway.

Gwendolyn turns and the housekeeper, Betsy, turns pink and bows quickly, the bowls in her arms clattering as she does.

"I-I'm so sorry, Miss Briggs, I thought you were Mildred- never mind." Betsy shakes her head and stores the cutlery quickly. Gwendolyn's face flickers with amusement.

"Good evening." She says. Betsy stumbles, still pink in the face. "You needn't be so scared of me. I'll stop my, ah, 'damned pacing'."

"My deepest apologies." Betsy says, but a smile is twitching on her face too. She brushes down her apron and looks at Gwendolyn curiously with her tightly knotted hair. She looks like the type of person to gossip, Gwendolyn thinks, God forbid. "With respect, Miss, why are you walking around here in the dark?"

Gwendolyn runs a hand through her hair. She wears it down, loose and curly, so different from Betsy's knot, where not a single strand of hair escapes.

"I needed a bit of peace." Gwendolyn admits, "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all. Can't blame you for needing a break from that crowd." Betsy laughs.

Gwendolyn considers her. Betsy's company is distracting, and might be a well needed break from her thoughts. She, at least, would be accommodating, and would listen. Maybe-

"You don't fancy a glass of wine, do you?" Gwendolyn asks, showing Betsy the bottle that Mildred had given her the night before. "I could do with the company."

"If you insist-" Betsy's smile fades when she peers closer to the bottle. "You know, Doctor Hanover's been missing a bottle like this. He said just yesterday he couldn't find it. It's been stolen, he thinks. A lot of things going missing, these days, don't you think?"

Gwendolyn pauses. Her eyes turn to the expensive label, and a sense of dread passes over her. Surely Mildred hadn't- Was it her, who was the manor's thief?

Certainly not, Gwendolyn thinks, amused at her own imagination.

"In any case, I'd love a glass, if you insist." Betsy says. She smiles so shamelessly. Another servant with bad manners, Gwendolyn thinks, amused. She likes their company much better than the uptight, dull characters of polite society.

Betsy gets two glasses from the cupboard, and they glitter as she sets them on the table. With a matching smile that distracts from her feelings Gwendolyn pours wine into the glass, dark liquid that smells divine, filling the kitchen with a warm sort of thrill. Betsy takes her glass and drinks from it quickly. Gwendolyn chuckles and matches her movements.

"Nice wine, this is." Betsy says.

It tastes like Mildred, Gwendolyn thinks. Rich, deep, divine. She tries to rid herself of her feelings but they rooted deep in her heart long ago.

"Thank you, for keeping me company." Gwendolyn says. "Here, there are stools. Shall we sit, if you are not busy?"

"I'm good for the night now, miss. I can sit with you. Surely you don't want to sit on something like that, though?"

"Of course." Gwendolyn laughs, and sits in one. Betsy joins her. 

"Now, what's bothering you?" Betsy asks. Gwendolyn thinks she's more curious than concerned, but that doesn't bother her.

"Oh, did you think it would be that easy? I will not confess it until at least three more glasses."

"That feels like a challenge, Miss Briggs." Betsy says, her smile tinged with wine. "Bring it on."

A few glasses later and they are fuzzy with wine, and good humour, smiling warmly over the rims of their glasses. Betsy has loosened her hair, a little, at last - it curls over her ears.

Here in the dark kitchen, Gwendolyn thinks, they can shrug off their roles a little. Gwendolyn doesn't have to be the darling fiance, the polite and restrained woman, any longer. Betsy does not have to be the housekeeper who never loses face for tonight.

"So he doesn't love me." Betsy is ranting, after so many glasses both of their cheeks are red. Her head is on the table, and she's looking quite forlorn. It's the drama of unrequited love, Gwendolyn thinks, and it's a feeling she quite understands. Her heart twinges with empathy. "He doesn't even like me. It's all Mildred this and Mildred that. He never looks my way. But why would he? Doctor Hanover is the lord of the manor and I am-"

"A strong and capable woman." Gwendolyn says warmly, pressing her hand over Betsy's, "No matter what your class or employment."

"What does that matter? He's always had affairs with rich women. You know, women with fancy clothes and expensive houses. I've watched them come and go." Betsy sighs, "And what am I to do? Watch from afar, in desperation?"

"Doctor Hanover certainly does not deserve that." Gwendolyn says, "You need a man who worships you, not the other way around."

"Right, because a man like that exists." Betsy cackles. "I'll be a spinster, pining for the doctor when I'm in my sixties."

"Nonsense!" Gwendolyn laughs. She puts her other hand on Betsy's shoulder, half to steady herself. "You must find a new man to satisfy you. Richard Hanover is hardly the perfect suitor, in any case. And he's very..."

"What?" Betsy asks. Her face flickers with defensiveness, even in this state.

"Well, he is a bit ridiculous, isn't he?" She says, and laughs when Betsy shoves her. "Oh, admit it! You've been his housekeeper for years, haven't you? Surely you've seen how he behaves?"

"He's endearing." Betsy says stubbornly.

"Calling it by a different name doesn't make it better, Betsy!"

They laugh in the night. Gwendolyn feels better, like this, ignoring her troubles and laughing with a woman who might become her friend. It is much better than the contrary, which would've been standing her alone for as long as her body would let her, and then crawling into bed in silence, ignoring Trevor's pleas for her to please talk to him, please talk about her feelings, as if they can be put into words.

"Never mind him. What about you, Miss Briggs?" Betsy sits up suddenly, her eyes sparkling. She delights, Gwendolyn thinks, amused, in other people's misfortunes. "You seemed quite miserable until I found you."

"Yes, I am in deep melancholy." Gwendolyn teases, and Betsy shoves her again.

"Seriously. I wish to know what troubles you."

"Well, I rather think I'm in the same state as you." Gwendolyn says, soberly this time. She can't tell Betsy the finer details, but maybe confessing just a little would lift some of the weight from her chest. 

"You've been rejected?"

"Not quite." Gwendolyn says, "But no response feels worse than a negative one, doesn't it?"

"Nah. At least with no response, you can speculate about a positive outcome. Because nothing is certain."

"There are no positives, in this case." Gwendolyn sighs, "There never have been. I'm not sure why I started this-"

Gwendolyn swallows the words. Betsy looks at her curiously. She's as inquisitive as Mildred is, under the moonlight, but it has a sharp edge to it, and she's more amusing than endearing.

"So you wanted to court someone, and they haven't replied to your proposition?"

"I have not asked."

"Then why are you so miserable?" Betsy laughs. "If you do not ask, there is no chance at all of you being in a partnership. Surely it is better to ask than to remain in the shadows?"

Gwendolyn swallows. Her heart pounds in her ears.

"It is impossible for me to ask, not when I-" She shakes her head, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Come on, tell me." Betsy says. She smiles, and though her eyes still glint with that same curiosity, Gwendolyn can tell her worry and care is genuine. 

"Betsy, the person I wish to court-" Gwendolyn's voice falls to a whisper, "Is a woman."

Betsy laughs, strong and hard in the darkness.

"Well, obviously. I expected that part already."

"Oh, are my affairs common knowledge?" Gwendolyn asks sharply.

"You don't know? Everyone has rumours about them, Miss Briggs. Yours just happen to be true."

"Well, I suspected that to be the case." Gwendolyn is too tired to be sharp. It fades quickly, leaving her face with only a weary sadness as it disappears. That pleasant drunk feeling is gone.

The two women consider each other in the dark, on the edge of friendship. Perhaps Gwendolyn should confide in her. Perhaps it is better than this sinking feeling that swallows her in solitude. Betsy has confessed to her that she loves Doctor Hanover, after all. She should return the favour.

"Come on then, who is it?" Betsy asks.

Gwendolyn sighs, and begins to speak.

*

Mildred hears her own footsteps as she steps into the manor.

It is rather quiet, this evening. The drawing room buzzes with conversation, but when she glances inside she finds no trace of Gwendolyn, and so simply steps by. Her mind is full, replaying the conversation she had outside of the manor with Ingrid Blix. She has realised a truth about herself.

She is like Gwendolyn, and Ingrid, and Lily. She feels drawn to women, wants to live her life with them. And her feelings, which have lived so quietly in her heart as she pushed them down, are overpowering. They are pulled towards Gwendolyn. She has wanted her, since the moment she saw her on that stage.

Now that she has realised it, it's rather freeing. Terrifying, but a little giddy, enough so that she smiles to herself as she steps through the manor. Every shadow seems to hide secrets. How many scandals are in this manor, she thinks, just waiting to be unleashed?

Mildred stops when she reaches the kitchen, because she hears a murmuring through the door. She's just able to make out Gwendolyn's voice, and her heart jumps. She is prepared to leave until she hears her name, spoken on Gwendolyn's lips, and she can do nothing but stand there, curious and aching.

"Betsy, it's Mildred."

She hears Betsy's familiar cackle through the door. Ridiculous, but completely like her. Mildred listens, not knowing what to make of this conversation she's intruded on yet.

"Mildred? Mildred Ratched? You don't mean the governess of this manor, do you? Are you serious?" Betsy asks, once her laughter fades.

"Completely, I'm afraid." Gwendolyn says, and Betsy bursts into another round of laughter.

"Apologies, Miss Briggs, it's just so- unexpected."

"Yes, I know. It was for me, too." Gwendolyn says.

"You're telling me you wish to court Mildred Ratched?"

Mildred blinks. She presses her ear closer to the door, her heart pounding.

"Oh, Betsy, I wish-" Mildred hears Gwendolyn falter. "I wish for so many things that I cannot have."

There is a silence for a moment.

"So she will definitely not have you?"

"I suspect not. I've known that all along, but- Betsy, she _haunts_ me." Mildred can hear Gwendolyn pause, and it breaks her heart, that silence that denotes a pain Mildred knows well. "I'm falling in love with her."

Mildred's heart turns over. She steps away from the door, trembling. When she presses her hand against her chest, it feels as if it's about to break free and land right in her palm. Oh, she thinks. She steps backwards again. The truth is now in the open, written on the manor walls, and carved into Mildred's skin, though Gwendolyn doesn't know it.

_I'm falling in love with her._

Mildred swallows and turns. She runs to her room and slams the door behind her, safe in the habitual comfort of her chambers. Whatever can she do, with this knowledge, when she has only just come to terms with her own feelings? Joy and fear overcome her. They're the afterglow of a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	14. making amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Even when I look away I am still looking." - Richard Siken, Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light

Mildred is sure she's never been quite this nervous.

There have been moments throughout her life that have been completely terrifying. Leaving the orphanage, and venturing into a new world she's never seen before, was a freedom so huge it was petrifying. The moment she saw this manor, towering over her head, she had paled with fear - it had been, then, the most magnificent building she'd ever seen in her life. The first time she slipped away from the manor to go to town, hidden by the shadows, her heart had been a chorus of booming, relentless music.

But it's here, at the breakfast table, where her fingers tremble. Mildred sits stiffly with her porridge, the spoon pressed against the side of the bowl, her feet flat on the ground, and she feels... overwhelmed with a nervous, warm flutter. As the sunlight falls on the tablecloth and the frills of expensive dresses Mildred is completely and utterly on edge.

Her eyes, once again, flicker to Gwendolyn. The woman is sitting a few seats from her, seemingly lost in thought. She does not meet Mildred's gaze, so Mildred watches her privately, looking over at Gwendolyn as much as she feels she safely can. Her gaze flutters over Gwendolyn's face, lined and tired, to her hands, resting on the tablecloth, to the collar line of her dress. Mildred notices the pendant is still hanging by her neck and that sparks the most pleasure of all.

She's never been so aware of her attraction to a woman before. But ever since she met Gwendolyn, Mildred has been nervous and unsure and far too softened by the woman's dark gaze, her kindness, the way she moves so boldly through the world.

It has terrified her. But not enough that she'll run away. Mildred looks back at her bowl of porridge with a pink flush in her cheeks, as delicate as a rose.

Again Mildred looks back at Gwendolyn. Her eyes are focused on the curve of Gwendolyn's lips. Most upper class women demonstrate their wealth through makeup, dark blushers and bright red lips, but not Gwendolyn. The only time Mildred has seen her wear makeup is when she is performing. But in her natural face there is something so beautiful, that catches the morning sunrise, and it suits her better than cosmetics ever would.

It's then that Gwendolyn catches her staring, and Mildred quickly looks away, her heart tugging as if it's pulled towards Gwendolyn, even through layers of skin and bone. It's the most contact they've had in days.

Mildred looks back, heart in her throat, but Gwendolyn has already looked away again.

The soft murmurations at the dinner table fall silent when Hanover taps his spoon on the edge of his glass. He stands, and all eyes turn to him, but not Mildred's.

"Good morning." He says, in that same simpering voice Mildred has come to loathe, over the years. "I hope you have enjoyed your stay thus far."

Mildred almost scoffs. The people here, as Edmund has said before, are all the same. They all want the same things, and have the same ambitions. They're manipulative, cruel, sharp around the edges. All of them, except for Gwendolyn Briggs.

"I'm afraid there will be little leisure, from now on. As I'm sure you know, the procedure on our subjects will be commencing tomorrow evening." Hanover smiles, sparking with excitement.

Mildred watches a muscle jump in Gwendolyn's throat. How much this much pain her, Mildred thinks. After all, whenever she thinks of those poor women, an ache begins to rise in her chest too, piercing the new edges of herself that she's just recently discovered.

"A reporter will also be attending the procedure. It will be held in my practice, and we will ride there in the afternoon to discuss the finer details of the surgery." Hanover continues, "I hope you will observe with delight what I'm certain is the future of medicine!"

A round of applause. Mildred doesn't clap, and neither does Gwendolyn. Neither, curiously, does Trevor, nor Huck. Hanover doesn't notice it. But why would he? His spirit, Mildred thinks, is trained to land its eyes on only praise.

"Now, I shall not keep you any longer. Please, proceed to the drawing room for a spot of tea." Hanover says, and the guests stand and bow.

Mildred follows the crowd, out of the dining room doors, her eyes searching for Gwendolyn amongst the tall hats and lively faces. She doesn't spot her, and she's so caught up in finding just a glimpse of the woman that she trips over the hem of someone's dress.

Mildred expects to fall onto the carpet, and be disgraced. To fall like this is such impropriety, she thinks, for a governess. But warm, strong arms have caught her. The saviour's hand are tight around her back, keeping her upright.

Mildred finds herself staring up into Gwendolyn's face.

Ah. Mildred has not been so close to her in a while. But has she always smelt so intoxicating, with the most wonderful perfume, and a hint of ginger? Has her face always seem as if it has been carved from marble and stone, shining like a precious gem under the morning sun? Mildred's heart stops, as she's held in Gwendolyn's arms.

Her mouth flickers into a small smile that Gwendolyn doesn't return. She lets go of Mildred quickly, and bows her head.

"Apologies, Miss Ratched." She says stiffly. The polite restraint is so unlike her, so completely _wrong,_ that Mildred goes to grab her arm. But Gwendolyn slips by her easily and disappears into the crowd once again, taking Mildred's heart with her.

Mildred sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, thinking deeply. She lets herself fade into the crowd of guests, but she will not drink tea with them. The library, she thinks, will be a solace from these intense and frightening feelings, at least until Elizabeth and Edward awaken. However lovely her feelings are, Mildred almost collapses under the realisation that she no longer has control of her own heart. It is at Gwendolyn's mercy.

And Mildred has always longed for control.

*

When she hears footsteps from her comfortable armchair Mildred hopes and prays that the intruder is Gwendolyn.

Might they just slip into their easy friendship again? Laughter and teasing and the knowledge that they have each other's back - that was that their friendship was, and Mildred had come to believe in it. Though she had put Gwendolyn through so much to accept her as her friend, Gwendolyn had stayed.

Now the distance between them feels like oceans of space.

But when the figure steps between the bookshelves and approaches her chair, Mildred realises it's not Gwendolyn at all. It's a small and smiling man, with eyes just like Gwendolyn's - _Trevor_.

"Oh!" He exclaims, as if delighted. Mildred blinks at him, feeling a curious mixture of resentment and fondness at his warm temperament. "Hello, Miss Ratched! I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Good morning, sir." Mildred attempts a smile, and stands to bow. "Well, this is my favourite hideout, after all."

"I don't blame you for wanting a little peace." Trevor chuckles, "It's a warzone out there, believe me. May I sit with you?"

"Certainly, sir." Mildred sits again, and he joins her in the other armchair.

Mildred watches him gaze among the bookshelves with that same smile on his face. He has a bright temperament that is somewhat softened, by his easy posture and polite manners. He's a sensible sort of man, and thus he and Gwendolyn go well together. Him, more suited to polite society, and her, a little rougher around the edges. A perfect match.

Mildred scowls and opens her book.

"It is lovely here, isn't it?" Trevor sighs. He sinks into the armchair. "I've been missing out."

"Yes, sir." Mildred agrees.

"The quiet of a library." He says, "It's soothing."

Mildred nods. His company isn't terrible. In fact, he's one of the better men she's met throughout her life. It's just that he reminds Mildred of how little of Gwendolyn's life she's been a part of. He has seen her wake in the morning. He has watched her cry. Mildred has not even known her for a year.

"I'm glad I ran into you, actually. I've been meaning to ask one of the servants something for a while now."

Mildred turns to him with a new spark of curiousity. It is not often that the upper sorts seek out those below them.

"What is it that you wish to know, sir?"

"It's just that... there have been reports of the guests' possessions going missing lately." Trevor begins carefully. Mildred supposes he's choosing his words cautiously so not to offend her. "I myself have suffered several incidents where I have not been able to find items of clothing or jewellery."

Mildred nods.

"That's terrible, sir."

"Indeed." Trevor pauses, "I was wondering if you had information, on this matter? I'm sure it is a thief. And I understand servants tend to, ah, _stick together._ It may be tempting to hide their discrepancies. But if you happen to know something I would greatly appreciate it if you confide in me."

Mildred stays silent, a spark of amusement inside of her. The truth lies on her tongue, but she doesn't speak it. Her allegiance is to Edmund and everyone like him, not these rich and entitled guests.

"You will be greatly rewarded." Trevor adds.

"I'm afraid I have no information to give you." Mildred says. Lies come easily, carefully constructed and meticulously delivered. "And in any case, where do you draw the assumption that the culprit is the servants from? Surely your colleagues are just as capable of thievery as we are."

Trevor's lips part in surprise.

"Forgive me, miss, I didn't mean-"

"No, that's quite alright." Mildred smiles thinly, "But you must be careful, sir, of your assumptions."

There's a silence before Trevor lets out a surprised laugh.

"Why, you're a sharp one, aren't you? Now I know why Gwendolyn likes you so much." Trevor says, and Mildred turns pink.

"She talks about me?" Mildred asks, in a small voice.

"Yes, of course. In fact I doubt she speaks of anything else." Trevor's smile softens. "Surely you know that?"

Mildred looks away, a smile teasing on the corners of her mouth.

"Forgive me for my impropriety, sir, but I must ask." Mildred says, "What do you think of Miss Briggs' character?"

Trevor considers her, lit by the lamps in the library.

"Well, she's a good woman, Gwen. She's always been a bit of a rebel - Goodness knows she gets us into trouble with my parents, more often than not. But she is the finest woman I've ever met, and her heart is more golden than anything wealth could buy." Trevor says, and the way his eyes grow light with affection makes Mildred think he means it. "Why do you ask? Surely you don't still distrust her?"

"No, not at all. Not in the slightest." Mildred admits, "I just wish to further sketch out her character, so I can understand her better. So that I can-"

_Make amends._

"The one thing you should know about Gwen is that she won't sacrifice her feelings for everything." Trevor says, "I know she seems direct at times, but she operates under a system of total honesty. Lying does not come easily to her, in fact she seems to reject dishonesty completely, and I admire it. To stand up for your beliefs will always be an admirable quality."

Mildred nods.

"Yes, I thought so." Mildred murmurs. "But you see, the reason I ask is because she seems rather- melancholic, at late. I have never seen her like this. Her mood is owed to tomorrow's procedure, I'm sure."

"Aren't you feeling the same?" Trevor says, "I'm starting to feel it myself. That someone should be robbed of their desires-"

"It's completely terrible." Mildred agrees. They smile at each other, solidarity rising between them. "Tell me, sir, if I were to, hypothetically, free these women from further torment, would you object?"

"Not at all. In fact, I would applaud you."

"Good." Mildred says, smiling.

"Now, what's this? You have this sly sort of look on your face." Trevor laughs, "You're planning something, aren't you?"

"You read me well." Mildred's smile widens. "You will have to wait and see. If I am successful, you will know of it."

"I look forward to tomorrow, then." Trevor holds out his hand, as if they are making an agreement. Mildred takes it, and does not bristle or grow stiff even when his warm hand grips her own. She feels they've moved towards friendship, just by a single step, because he sees her as his equal.

Even if she is dishonest with Trevor, Mildred can respect him. Trevor is not the enemy. He's Gwendolyn's friend, after all.

Mildred is distracted from her thoughts when she catches the time on the huge library clock.

"Oh! Excuse me, sir, but I must be going." Mildred stands and bows. "I have to teach the children."

"Yes, yes, of course, don't let me hinder your duties!" Trevor says, "It was a pleasure speaking with you, though, Miss Ratched."

"And you." Mildred smiles, and means it.

*

It's no surprise that Gwendolyn can't sleep, that night.

As she stares out into the starry sky, she finds the late hour as dark and melancholy as her own mood. Gwendolyn sighs, her face pressed to the cold, hard glass of the window. She had found a hallway that was quiet and peaceful so that Trevor wouldn't ask her probing questions, and had curled up on the windowsill, remaining there in the chilled, shadowed space even as the hour passed midnight. She's twirling Mildred's pendant around her finger without even realising it.

As she sits here, Gwendolyn can't help but think of her past. Even as she dwells on her current concerns - Hanover's subjects, and Mildred - she finds herself reflecting on her own history, and how similar the situation seems. Back when she was younger she had hidden herself in shadows and tried to conform to her family's every wish. She was polite, respectful, suppressing her true personality for the benefit of her family. Until a woman much like Mildred entered her life and taught her how she had the strength to be brave, Gwendolyn was caught in a cycle of despair.

She had thought she was free of it. But lately, Gwendolyn feels trapped in the same box. This manor has become a prison, and this is true for no one more than the two poor women who will have their surgery the next day.

If only Gwendolyn could _do_ something. But she can't risk hurting Trevor's reputation by rebelling. He has given her so much, and she mustn't be ungrateful. She mustn't tread on his business or his relationship with his colleagues. To do so would be selfish.

Yet how can she sit here, knowing something dreadful will happen very soon, and there is so much she could to do stop it?

Gwendolyn's breath fogs up the window. She closes her eyes and tries to let her frantic thoughts slip away, but they've already settled.

A voice emerges from the shadows.

"Gwendolyn?" It says. Cautious, warm. _Mildred._ Gwendolyn swallows and doesn't turn to look at her.

"Miss Ratched." She greets. "Why are you not asleep?"

"I... I could say the same for you." Mildred says, in a tone somewhere between teasing and scolding. "May I sit with you?"

"What?" Gwendolyn turns to her sharply. She should not allow herself to hope- "Why would you want to do that?"

Mildred pauses. In the shadow she seems like an angel, come from the night to pull Gwendolyn away from the darkness inside of her.

"Do I need a reason to keep company with my friend?" Mildred asks, with a small smile. Even in the dark there's a pink in her cheeks, effortlessly beautiful. She seems so embarrassed, but Gwendolyn isn't sure why.

Gwendolyn's lips part in surprise. She had expected Mildred would never speak to her again - the governess' rejection of her... preferences is still raw, a wound inside of her that has yet to heal. But here Mildred is, still offering a friendship, so much more giving and open than the woman Gwendolyn spotted in the crowd the first time they met.

Mildred takes advantage of her silence and climbs onto the window ledge beside her. The space is small enough that they are close. Too close, close enough that Gwendolyn can see everyone of her eyelashes, can feel their legs brushing through layers of nightgown.

"You still consider us- friends?"

"Why, of course." Mildred gives her a look, as if to say, _foolish._ "Thank you for your patience. I just had to... think. I hope you understand. I've never-"

Mildred swallows, a small and fluttering thing that Gwendolyn catches through the shadows. The governess looks out at the stars, moonlight on her cheeks.

"I've never known a woman like you." She says, finally. "But your feelings, they are not- they are not wrong, nor unnatural. I know I was cruel before, but I believe love is love, Gwendolyn. I do not wish to part from you, simply because I was ignorant."

_Oh._ Gwendolyn pauses, a little of her pain fading away. Perhaps she had been hasty. After all, with a little patience, Mildred has never once let her down. In fact, Mildred has _always_ exceeded expectations. She's always a surprise. When had Gwendolyn started underestimating her? A smile blooms in her cheeks.

"You mean that?"

"Yes." Mildred turns back to Gwendolyn. Her eyes are clear, and for once, Gwendolyn finds truth in them. "I'm sorry. Forgive me, if I hurt you."

"There is no sin to forgive." Gwendolyn says softly. Mildred gives her a smile that is reassuring, comforting. Despite everything, Gwendolyn feels a calm settle between them. Over the tension and thrill of Gwendolyn's feelings for Mildred are a peace that only comes with true friendship, trust. Companionship.

"And I also have to admit." Gwendolyn says after a moment, after gathering a little courage. "That it is not all your fault. I have not been- myself, as of late."

"Yes." Mildred says gently, as if prodding her to continue.

"I, um-"

Mortifyingly, Gwendolyn feels the sting of tears in her eyes. She shakes her head and wills them away, taking a long, shaky breath. How embarrassing, she thinks. She has managed to keep it together for so long, but Mildred comes here in the twilight and unravels her.

"Ingrid, and Lily." Gwendolyn whispers, "They do not deserve what they have gone through. And they do not deserve the future that has been made for them."

A thoughtful silence. Mildred nods.

"They are so full of life." Gwendolyn says, so quietly she thinks not even the stars hear her, "I cannot watch it be taken away from them."

Mildred reaches forward in the dark and takes Gwendolyn's hands in her own.

"You won't have to." Mildred says, harder and more serious than Gwendolyn has ever heard her speak before. Her eyes are sharp, angry, but the fury is not directed at Gwendolyn. "Listen to me, Gwendolyn, and listen carefully. I have a plan. Do you wish to help me?"

"What sort of plan?"

"We will free those women, tonight." Mildred says. "We will collect them from their rooms. I have asked Salvatore to assist us. He will drive the carriage to town with the two of them in the back, and leave them just outside of town. From there, they will find their own way, to wherever they wish to be."

Gwendolyn blinks.

"Mildred, surely you're not serious?" She asks, though there is no trace of amusement in Mildred's shadowed face.

"I am."

Gwendolyn shakes her head.

"It is foolish, and dangerous. If you are caught-"

"That," Mildred smiles, "Is why I have asked Huck to cover us. He will make sure no one is around to see us free them. I trust he will do a good job, and we have a signal if anything goes awry."

"But-" Gwendolyn is amazed, by Mildred's courage, her steady bravery, "Are you _sure_ , Mildred? This is Doctor Hanover's prized project. There is so much that could go wrong. If I am caught, I risk so much, perhaps even the removal of Trevor's license to practice. But if you are caught, you will- you will be _dismissed,_ and then where will you go?"

Mildred pats the back of Gwendolyn's hands with soft, reassuring fingers.

"I am sure it will go smoothly. Some things, you see, are worth the risk." Mildred pauses, "...It's strange."

"Hm?"

"I thought you were... braver, than this." Mildred considers her, and Gwendolyn feels far too _seen,_ in the spaces between the shadows where the moonlight falls. "But you are hiding a lot of fear, aren't you, Gwendolyn?"

Gwendolyn has not realised it, but all along, her heart has been slowly opening. She had not known she was just as reserved as Mildred until Mildred at looked at her, here in the moonlight, and had exposed a part of her Gwendolyn hadn't even known she'd been hiding. She swallows, looking into Mildred's face. How is it that they get closer, and closer, the more Gwendolyn thinks they couldn't possibly grow any nearer to each other?

"Well, I-" Gwendolyn sighs, "Yes, I suppose you're right. Oh, Mildred, you're so..."

Gwendolyn finally smiles, and turns her hands to grip Mildred's. Some of the certainty in Mildred's face flickers and fades, for a moment, and Mildred flushes. Her embarrassment is quickly smothered, but Gwendolyn catches it in her face before it disappears.

"You are incredible." Gwendolyn says.

Mildred looks up at her through her eyelashes and stray strands of hair. This is not the time, Gwendolyn thinks, to be _feeling_ like this, to be sitting here with Mildred's hands so warm and small in her own. But despite this she still struggles to breathe in the dark, and she is very glad the shadows can still hide some parts of her. For now, her feelings should be kept under lock and key. She has almost scared Mildred away so often, now.

"Listen. I do not need your help," Mildred says, her tone softer than before, "I could easily get the women from their bedchambers alone. But I think it would make you feel better, if you were there. I do not need you to come with me, Gwendolyn, but I _want_ you too. Do you see?"

Gwendolyn smiles, and nods. She quickly lets go of Mildred's hands and stands, bringing herself out of that warm bubble they had made for themselves on the window ledge.

"Than shall we begin our rescue mission?" Gwendolyn asks.

Mildred giggles and jumps down from the ledge. She smooths down her dress and smiles back.

"It is not as exciting as that." She says, "But let us begin."

*

Mildred knows where the servants' bedchambers are, of course.

Gwendolyn follows her through the dark, marvelling at the difference between her own rooms and these. How lucky she is. She often has to reflect on her own privilege, and she tries to do so now as she steps through the shadows and follows Mildred quietly. Mildred herself is like a cat. She moves so silently, with such practiced ease, that Gwendolyn feels like a fumbling fool behind her. But then she remembers Mildred tripping in the dining room that morning, and lets out a chuckle. Much of Mildred is a facade, she thinks, and when it slips-

"Be quiet." Mildred hisses, turning sharp eyes to her in the dark. It only makes Gwendolyn laugh harder.

"I'm sorry, Mildred, I just remembered this morning-" Gwendolyn chuckles, "When you fell-"

Mildred frowns and turns away. Gwendolyn laughs even more. She must have been making quite a bit of noise, because the door to their left clicks open and they're face with Betsy's weary, irritated face. Her hair is unknotted, falling around her shoulders, and sleep has made her face softer.

"Well, well, well. Mildred Ratched." Betsy drawls. "Of course it's you that's disturbing me at goodness knows what time-"

Then Betsy's eyes meet Gwendolyn's through the dark and her face lights up.

"Miss Briggs!" She says, delighted, and steps forward to press a hand to Gwendolyn's arm.

"I've _told_ you, call me _Gwen-"_

"Yes, yes." Betsy dismisses. "Oh, it's so good to see you. I feel like it's been so long since we last spoke."

"You exaggerate." Gwendolyn says, with a laugh.

Gwendolyn suddenly spots Mildred glaring at them. Light from Betsy's bedroom slips into the hallway, and her face is illuminated, dark as her eyes stay completely focused on the space where Betsy is touching Gwendolyn. A thrill passes down Gwendolyn's spine, and she steps closer to Betsy, just to watch Mildred's expression grow darker.

"What are you doing here so late, anyway?" Betsy asks her curiously.

"Forgive us for the disturbance, Betsy." Gwendolyn says, "I know it is late, but Miss Ratched and I have, ah, _business_ to attend to."

Betsy gapes at them and her cheeks turn bright red.

"Yes, we must not be disturbed." Mildred adds, and Gwendolyn sends her a wink.

"What- What sort of business?" Betsy says, "Surely you don't mean- _Well,_ Miss Ratched, I didn't know you had it in you-"

The other two women stay silent.

"Oh, I apologise, I- I- I better leave you to it- Good to see you Miss Briggs- Um- Yes, goodnight-"

Then Betsy backs away from them and quickly slams the door behind her. The silence is filled with amusement as Gwendolyn chuckles at the closed door.

" _Gwendolyn._ Why on earth did you do that to her?" Mildred is giggling too.

Gwendolyn is laughing as she turns back to Mildred. The cloud of gloom that has hovered over her for weeks has lifted, as if it was never there at all. She feels so light, in Mildred's company, with the knowledge that everything... everything will be alright.

"Oh, did you see the look on her face?" Gwendolyn is breathless with happiness as she steps away from the door, "I should apologise to her in the morning, but goodness-"

"You are too cruel. Now please, focus." Mildred says, and Gwendolyn follows after her as they begin to walk again.

"Admit it, Mildred. It was funny." Gwendolyn calls after her.

"Gwendolyn! You must be _quiet._ "

They reach Ingrid's room with no further issues. Hanover had thought it wise that they be kept in separate rooms, especially after the procedure, and so they are only expecting Ingrid to be in the bed when the two women slip inside. However, once their eyes focus in the darkness, they pause when they realise that Ingrid isn't alone.

Of course, Gwendolyn thinks sadly. She should've expected it.

Ingrid and Lily are wrapped together, in each other's arms, as they sleep. Lily's face is tucked under Ingrid's chin and in the dark Gwendolyn can hear them breathing, a soft, shared lull. The two women are so intertwined Gwendolyn thinks they might never be parted. It's a raw sight, and Gwendolyn feels she shouldn't be witnessing it.

Her eyes flicker to Mildred, who's already looking at her. Gwendolyn blinks and the two of them turn away quickly, both pink in the cheeks. Gwendolyn doesn't know it, but both of them are thinking the same thing, in that dark bedroom.

_That could be us._

Mildred takes a breath and steps closer, then gently shakes Ingrid's shoulder. The two wake slowly, quietly unravelling from their embrace. Gwendolyn watches it unfold with the curious sensation that even as they escape further from each other's arms they are still... just as close. It's not logical. But she feels it. She supposes it must be their hearts, which are still embracing.

"We must leave now." Mildred whispers.

"What's going on?" Lily asks, rubbing her eyes.

"We are helping you escape." Mildred says, "Grab your things. There is a carriage waiting for you outside."

"A-A carriage? What do you mean?" Lily seems bewildered, in her half asleep state. She sits up, and Ingrid follows. Ingrid has a light in her eyes - Gwendolyn is sure she already knows what's going on. "What- Why are you helping us escape?"

Mildred just smiles.

"Hurry." She says. "Don't you want to leave this place?"

"Yes." Ingrid laughs. "Yes, yes, yes."

The two lovers gather what little possessions they have and get dressed. All the while, Gwendolyn watches Mildred. The governess is gazing absently at the messy bedsheets, strewn across the bed, with an expression on her face that Gwendolyn can't read. What is she thinking? What comes to her mind, when she looks at the place where these two women had made a home even in such a horrible manor? It's impossible for Gwendolyn to figure it out.

Eventually, they leave this room, and wander back through the manor. As they walk Ingrid tells them stories, funny and sad and hopeful tales that seem to touch the manor walls. Gwendolyn laughs and nods along, and Mildred listens in her own way - quietly, but with meaning, with patience. They descend the steps into the garden and finally reach the carriage Mildred has prepared for them. Gwendolyn presumes the footman sitting on the horse is the _Salvatore_ she had mentioned previously.

Gwendolyn stands back as Mildred helps the women into the carriage, in awe of this governess who continued to break every single rule she was meant to keep.

As it rides away into the darkness Gwendolyn feels as if she's being freed of her own fear, too. As if the further the carriage goes the more the bad memories and fears inside of her loosen from her heart and drift away, carried under the wheels of the carriage. She lets out a breath and smiles, and has never been so happy, and never felt so brave.

"You did it." Gwendolyn says, to Mildred's back. Mildred turns and smiles.

"It went as smoothly as I expected." She says, stepping towards Gwendolyn. "Salvatore will be back in about an hour. It is not close to sunrise, and it is too late for anyone to be awake, especially considering they must prepare for tomorrow. I am sure we shall never be suspected. That is, unless Miss Bucket-"

"Oh, don't worry about Betsy. She's a good woman."

"Yes." Mildred looks down at the grass, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Actually, you've reminded me- I wanted to- I- Gwendolyn, I heard-"

Mildred pauses and shakes her head. The flush in her cheeks is darker than Gwendolyn has ever seen it.

"What is it?" Gwendolyn asks.

"Nothing. I will tell you when I-" Mildred swallows. "It turns out that you are not the only one, with fear."

"Mildred Ratched, fearful? I could never believe it. You have demonstrated such courage and bravery tonight-"

"Don't flatter me." Mildred says, but the pleased smile growing on her face contradicts her words. "But anyway. Gwendolyn, you must know, you have helped me become stronger. And so I hope you know that if you are in pain, you do not have to suffer alone. You can lean on me."

Gwendolyn's heart melts.

"Oh, Mildred..."

"I mean it." Mildred steps closer to her. "You are my friend, and I-"

Words seem to fail her. Instead of speaking, Mildred wraps her arms around Gwendolyn's back, in a tight, warm hug.

Gwendolyn freezes. She has never been so close to Mildred before, but now here she is, with her head on Gwendolyn's chest. Her hair smells fresh and clean like the morning and her grip is tight, but comforting, welcoming. It's an embrace that seems to say _it's alright_ and so Gwendolyn believes it. She lets herself melt into Mildred's embrace, and is comforted by this hug, this unexpected embrace in the middle of a cold night, that had been given to her so sweetly.

"You're trembling." Gwendolyn murmurs, after a moment of silence.

Mildred pulls away, brushing down her dress and avoiding Gwendolyn's eyes.

"It's cold." Mildred says.

Gwendolyn can tell, now, when Mildred is lying. She can pick up on the small, insignificant signs that Mildred doesn't even realise she's giving.

Mildred is not cold. But Gwendolyn will keep that to herself, just for now. After all, the only reason they have come this far is because of patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if you can tell, but when i started writing this chapter i was super inspired. it's my favourite yet :) so i rly hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> so the chapter summary! i recommend checking out richard siken's poetry if you haven't already. it's rly moving and bittersweet and will change your life
> 
> and i'll see you soon, of course <3 you guys are such consistent and kind readers, you always comment and it's really so encouraging. i'm so glad you enjoy this story as much as i do! sending lots of love and good wishes your way
> 
> i'm desperate to give spoilers at this point. so let me give you a few vague hints for the current arc of this story because i just can't resist anymore ;)
> 
> * letter opener  
> * dolly  
> * lenore  
> * constable  
> * betrayal


	15. respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He could see it stretching ahead of him, a time of relative quiet in a hidden sietch, a moment of peace between periods of violence.” ― Frank Herbert, Dune

Gwendolyn has seen many scandals.

Being engaged to Trevor comes with a certain risk of witnessing them. Over the years she's collected secrets, hushed treasures that Trevor has given her, and watched them unfold with amusement. Gwendolyn likes to sit back and watch the chaos, from the _outside_. But now she is right in the centre of it.

A smile twitches on Gwendolyn's face as she sits with her legs crossed in the drawing room. It's quite a sight, Gwendolyn thinks. Hanover stands at the centre of the room, his face bright red with fury, still in his dressing gown. His hair is a mess, with dark sweaty strands giving him a wild sort of impression. It's really rather funny, Gwendolyn thinks, watching him storm through the morning shadows on the carpet.

While he yells the rest of the room speak in hushed whispers. They each have their own theories on how and why and when their precious _subjects_ (Gwendolyn loathes the word) disappeared. Some say it was a rebellious servant. Some say the surgery was a hoax all along. The more outlandish theories range from a night time abductor, to the counties notorious serial killer, to a haunting.

Gwendolyn meets Mildred's gaze across the room, and both of their eyes twinkle with laughter. It's exhilarating, to have this secret between them, though it could destroy their lives, and their reputations. You see, Gwendolyn has never been like this. Despite her bold appearance she's always played the part, too - dresses and propriety and as many manners as she can perform. There has always been a line between being who she is and being who she has to be. If Mildred hadn't intervened Gwendolyn would have let this happen and then she would've been bleeding guilt for the rest of her life.

But Mildred... Mildred is _changing_ her. And Gwendolyn is helpless to stop it. How quickly she would be willing to give everything up, just for another moment in her company. Gwendolyn looks out a the chaos and begins to thrive on it.

"Well, why don't you just call the constable?" Lenore Osgood asks. She's leaning back in her seat, looking thoroughly entertained. "Surely he could assist with an investigation."

Hanover's face turns a darker red.

"Don't be silly, mother." Her son pipes up, smoking on a long pipe, "The procedure the Doctor has proposed is hardly legal."

"Well, that's-" Hanover splutters.

"He has a point." Charles Wainwright pipes up. Gwendolyn bristles at the grating sound of his voice. She still hasn't forgotten that he had taken Mildred for- for _dinner,_ hadn't he? What is the state of their relationship now? "And in any case, I'm sure there are some... questionable things hidden in this manor that Doctor Hanover desperately wants to hide."

Hanover seems as if he's about to explode with fury, and Gwendolyn catches her chuckle before it can escape, though the crinkle by Mildred's eyes makes it difficult to suppress. The governess stands by the window, looking out at the greenery. She should be looking after the children, but Hanover in his angry state had sent them back to bed, though noon is quickly approaching. He probably needs Mildred to stay, Gwendolyn thinks, for a sort of... moral support. A calm and objective presence against the storm of his guests.

"Now, now, let's not be hasty." Charlotte Wells pipes up, in a warm voice. "Perhaps there's a reasonable explanation for all of this. It's possible they left themselves."

"No, no, it's sabotage I tell you!" Hanover falls onto a chair, "This is my life's work."

"Well, just get a few more subjects." Lenore says.

"It's not that easy. _"_ Hanover spits _._

"Why ever not?" Lenore drawls. "Oh, yes. I remember. You told me, didn't you, that the way you received those women wasn't exactly.... ahem, _ethical._ "

"It doesn't matter anyway. They're gone now." Hanover runs a hand through his hair. "Oh, well, at least we still have the boy!"

"The child? The one with the imagination?" Charles Wainwright laughs. "Forgive me, doctor, but I haven't seen him since yesterday afternoon. Is it possible the boy slipped away too?"

Hanover's eyes widen comically.

"Mr. Wainwright is correct, sir." Mildred says smoothly, calmly, and Hanover looks towards her as if she can ease the stormy tides. But she has created them, Gwendolyn thinks, amused. "The boy was not found in his bedchambers this morning either."

"Well, I can hardly blame him. Nobody even spoke to the child." Lenore says. "I think all of us forgot he even existed."

"Poor boy." Charlotte sighs.

"Oh, this is a disaster." Hanover says, and Gwendolyn _swears_ she can see tears in his eyes.

"So was this young boy being freed the work of your governess too?" Trevor murmurs in Gwendolyn's ear.

"I suppose so. She's a darling, isn't she?" Gwendolyn murmurs back, and Trevor mutters something that sounds like _lovesick fool._ "Behave, Trevor."

"Well, at least you're smiling again, dear. Being gloomy has never suited you." Trevor says, sending her a sweet smile, and as always she softens and smiles back. "Mildred Ratched has certainly had an effect on you."

"Are you finished?" Gwendolyn asks, but her cheeks turn a dusty pink, and her eyes turn to the governess by the window. "But it's true that I've never met a woman like her."

"Then what next?"

"Hm?"

"What happens now? You have already told her of your-" Trevor looks around them to ensure all of the guests are occupied with Doctor Hanover's ranting, and not listening to them. "Preferences, and she has not left your company. So do you plan to court her, now?"

"Ah." Gwendolyn's smile fades a little. "Ah, well, you see... do you remember those few days after I admitted the truth to Mildred? I avoided her, and waited for her to come to me, and goodness, being without her... it was like I was in hell. I just don't think I can risk losing her again. It would kill me, Trevor."

"Well." Trevor says, pausing for a moment to take in her words. "I've never heard you say anything like that before, in all of the years I've known you. Are you quite in love with her?"

"I-I wouldn't say that. I simply treasure our friendship, and so I shall be patient." Gwendolyn says, suddenly sparking with vulnerability, because she has never been so full of feeling for another person, until Mildred, and it can be terrifying. It can be as painful as it is wonderful. She doesn't want to admit it could be love. She had only told Betsy in a hazy, drunken moment.

"You are sentimental, these days." Trevor chuckles, but he places a warm hand on her arm and takes mercy on her. "Mildred has proved herself to be a good woman. I'm sure nothing you could do would prompt her departure from your side."

"I do hope so." Gwendolyn murmurs, meeting Mildred's gaze across the room again.

*

Mildred hums to herself as she wanders towards the kitchen with a mug.

Yesterday Hanover had found his subjects missing. The day had unfolded exactly as she had planned it would - Mildred had found satisfaction in how easy it was to manipulate the manor to her benefit, like pieces falling into place. How simple it was to twist the world to fit whatever shape she wanted it to.

(And Gwendolyn had seemed so much brighter, with that lovely smile on her face in the drawing room that morning. It had been a different kind of pleasure, to make Gwendolyn happy.)

Now, on this lovely Saturday afternoon, a newfound confidence burns inside of Mildred. It sparks and asks her _what should I do next?_

She knows, deep down, what she has to do. Some time in the future she must... confess, to Gwendolyn, the feelings and thoughts that swirl inside of her, those flames that are so warm and longing to be released. To share those feelings with Gwendolyn, knowing they will be returned... would be so....

But there is something shy and nervous within Mildred, fluttering like a baby bird. It's new and scared and she fears cannot match Gwendolyn's boldness with her own. Not yet. Still- still- when she thinks of a future where she might be closer than what is proper to Gwendolyn, she overflows with happiness.

Because Gwendolyn had confessed her feelings for her to Betsy, hadn't she? _I think I'm falling in love with her._ Mildred hears those words echo around the corridor as she steps easily through the manor, smiling. For the first time since she was a child Mildred allows herself to _hope,_ to trust that with enough time and patience they could make something beautiful together. They might bloom together a closeness and intimacy that Mildred had never let herself _have,_ before.

Her happy musings are interrupted when a cold, sharp hand grips her wrist. Mildred stops and whirls around. But it's only Edmund, and he smiles lazily, a comforting, familiar face. Mildred's face blooms into a matching smile.

"Hello there, Miss." He says, pulling her into the empty kitchen by her wrist. His nails are sharp enough that Mildred is wincing, just slightly, but she doesn't mind it, especially since he lets go as if sensing her discomfort.

"Great stunt you pulled with those women, by the way." Edmund's smile is crooked when he eventually speaks, and the more Mildred looks at it, the more empty it seems. Had he always been so emotionless?

Now that she thinks of it, Mildred has never really seen any expression of emotion on his face other than rage. Still, she doesn't fear him, not even with her wrist aching from his grip. Even when he is strange and unsettling Mildred is affectionate of him, like a sister for her brother. She isn't sure when they became friends, but then, lately Mildred has not been sure of very much at all.

"I have no idea what you mean." Mildred says.

"So it wasn't you who's put this manor in a complete uproar by setting Hanover's precious subjects free? Because I was about to congratulate you-"

"Hush!" Mildred hisses. She looks behind them, but the corridor still seems empty. The guests have commenced a search of the grounds for the subjects - Edmund and Elizabeth had begged to go with them, and since it's a Saturday, Mildred had not protested.

"Nice work. You learned from the best." Edmund drawls.

"Be _quiet,_ Edmund. And I do not need to learn anything from you, thank you. I am quite capable of, what was it you said, oh yes, _causing uproar_ on my own."

"Well, Miss, you've certainly showed that." Edmund says. "So I guess your feelings for that Miss Briggs aren't that friendly after all, huh?"

"Edmund!" Mildred hisses, turning pink. "That's not why I did it."

"Yeah, of _course_ not. But you know, I almost feel sorry for stealing her dresses now." Edmund says, and Mildred lets out a surprise giggle. She's become complicit in Edmund's thievery, and it empowers her, too, makes her seem like the servants really aren't so powerless after all. 

"You're terrible."

"Charming, though." Edmund says.

"Hardly." Mildred sniffs. "But while we're on the subject, I've been meaning to ask. What do you plan to do, once you've finished your... work here?"

"Sell the stolen goods, obviously."

"Edmund, you know what I mean. Where will you go? Will you travel to another manor, in the next county?"

Edmund's smile grows wider.

"What is that smile for?" Mildred asks.

"C'mon, Miss, work it out yourself. You've always known I've got a big plan for this place." Edmund winks. "Just wait, and you'll see."

"I do hope you're not planning on getting into _too_ much trouble."

"Not at all, Miss. You know me. I'm a _saint_."

Mildred ignores that.

"And Dolly?" She asks.

Edmund raises an eyebrow.

"What about her?"

"You're not planning to take her with you, are you?"

Edmund shakes his head, beginning to laugh.

"Course not. I'm a lone wolf. Although someone like _you_ would be handy to have around."

"Well _I'm_ not coming with you."

"I know that. You're... _preoccupied_ with someone else, I'm sure."

"I don't like what you're insinuating, Edmund." Mildred scolds, but she's smiling, because he isn't wrong, not really.

"I've got to go. A lot of planning to do, you see. I just wanted to congratulate you on what you did for those women." Edmund pats her arm, "Oh, and thanks."

"What ever for?"

"You've given me the perfect distraction." Edmund winks, and disappears, out into the corridor, where Mildred can't look out for him anymore.

She sighs and returns to her cup of tea. She trusts he will know when he has gone too far, when there is nothing left to steal, and so she pushes the worry from her mind. Still, it is peculiar. Mildred had vowed never to trust or love, just a few months ago. But here she is, filled with compassion for the people closest to her, as if some of Gwendolyn's caring, warm spirit has nestled itself inside of her.

*

Mildred isn't sure why, but she's quite sure that tonight is the best performance Gwendolyn has ever given.

Is there something different about the air? No, Mildred thinks, it's still that same musk, filled with the noise of laughter and music and conversation. The crowd is the same, the songs are the same, there is nothing new or fresh about the evening. Yet Mildred sits there on this particular Saturday feeling as if she is watching Gwendolyn perform for the first time again, and she can feel every breath she takes, can hear every thump of her heart as it rages inside of her.

A pool of warmth settles in Mildred's abdomen. She knows her cheeks must be bright pink but goodness, she can think of nothing but the way Gwendolyn moves to the music. It's a combination of things, Mildred thinks, that shake her up. The light in Gwendolyn's eyes. The length of her legs. The happiness crinkling on every inch of her face, as if overflowing. It is not until her cheeks start to hurt that Mildred realises she's been smiling along with her.

"Now," Gwendolyn says, after the final song, twirling a rose between her fingers. Her chest rises and falls quickly, but she seems more exhilarated, than exhausted. "I'm sure a lot of young ladies think it unfair that _they_ never get a chance to receive a rose."

There's a chorus of agreement from the crowd as Gwendolyn sends Mildred a wink.

"Alas, I continue to play favourites." Gwendolyn sighs, and throws the rose to Mildred. "Do forgive me. I simply can't help myself."

_Yes,_ Mildred thinks, catching the rose, _me neither._

Once the show is over, and Mildred is clutching the rose to her chest, she's still out of breath. Even when she pushes easily through the crowds of people to find Gwendolyn back stage, she's still completely out of sorts, and is aware it must be written all over face. When she tugs on Gwendolyn's shirt sleeve, the dressing room bustling around them, Mildred worries she might melt into a puddle right in front of her.

"Mildred! There you are!" Gwendolyn says happily, when she turns around. She beams, her smile like starlight. Mildred's returning smile fades when she sees how the top buttons of Gwendolyn's shirt are undone. Her suit jacket is thrown over her arm, her sleeves rolled up and her tie loosened, and Mildred is sure her swallow is audible. "I was great out there, wasn't I?"

"You were." Mildred takes in a breath, regaining her composure. "You were incredible tonight."

"Alright, you don't have to flatter me." Gwendolyn chuckles.

"No, really, Gwendolyn. You were." Mildred says, and Gwendolyn pauses when she sees the sincere expression on Mildred's face.

"Thank you, sweetheart." Gwendolyn says, softened by the compliment. Mildred is delighted by the pleased smile on Gwendolyn's face and her eyes flicker over the rest of her, to find something else to enjoy.

When Mildred doesn't reply, fixated by the sweat shining on Gwendolyn's collarbone, Gwendolyn places a gentle hand on her arm.

"Are you alright? You look rather flushed, you haven't got a fever, have you?"

Not exactly, Mildred thinks, Gwendolyn's touch burning through the material of Mildred's sleeve.

"The weather been cold, lately." Mildred murmurs.

"You mustn't get sick." Gwendolyn says, "I refuse it."

Mildred giggles.

"Tell me, how exactly can you refuse illness?" Mildred asks.

"With the strength of my will." Gwendolyn decides.

"And you _really_ think you have the power to do that?" Mildred teases, still pink in the cheeks, but smiling as she always does in Gwendolyn's company.

"Oh, you shouldn't tease, Mildred." Gwendolyn says, lowly, and her hand trails down Mildred's arm. "Because I certainly do."

Their smiles linger and fades. The silence crackles with tension, all of a sudden, and Mildred thinks she may never be able to breathe again, as she is so completely caught up in Gwendolyn. She looks down at where Gwendolyn's fingers are hovering over the edge of her wrist now, trembling slightly on the bare skin. Gwendolyn is finally touching something real that isn't disguised by layers of fabric and Mildred thinks this is the most intimate they've been, though it is such a feather-light touch.

"Gwendolyn-" Mildred begins to say, almost in a whisper.

But they are interrupted by a jolly, familiar voice.

"Gwen! You were great out there-" Huck is booming, about to throw an arm over her shoulder. Gwendolyn clears her throat and lets go of Mildred quickly. "Are you still heading out to the public house tonight?"

"Yes! It has been far too long since I went to an English public house." Gwendolyn chuckles. She turns to Mildred. "Would you like to come with us, darling? Sorry, I forgot to mention it earlier."

Mildred nods, slightly. A month ago she would've said no to the invitation. Now she just delights in the idea of being closer to Huck and.... Gwendolyn.

"Yes, I would like to. And it's hardly a crime that you forgot." Mildred says, "It _has_ been rather hectic, lately."

"Indeed." Huck laughs, "The longer I can spend away from that manor, the better."

Huck pauses.

"Don't tell Doctor Hanover that."

"She wouldn't dream of it." Gwendolyn chuckles, sending Mildred a smile just for the two of them. Mildred returns it, the rose still in her hands. She could put it into her handbag if she wished to but there is something that stops her, makes her want to keep the flower safe and snug between her fingers, instead.

So, after Gwendolyn and Huck are changed into their ordinary outfits, the three of them walk together, through the cold night, to the saloon on the corner of the street. Instead of returning to their carriage they keep walking, Huck telling stories of the war as the stars twinkle ahead of them.

"Have you been to a public house before?" Gwendolyn murmurs, their back of their hands brushing as they walk. Mildred shakes her head. "Oh, you're in for a treat."

"Won't we be, ah, disapproved of there?" Mildred asks, looking down at their dresses. Women are frowned upon for drinking alcohol and being so boldly in public anyway - plus, they are with a man they are not even married to. A scandal, Mildred thinks, amused.

"Oh, absolutely." Gwendolyn says, "It makes the experience so much more exciting when you're being frowned at."

Mildred giggles, and Gwendolyn smiles down at her. How easy it is, Mildred thinks, to walk beside her. She has changed so much from that woman who shunned any company but her own

The public house bustles with people and noise. There are no upper classes families here - they prefer the gin houses. Huck leads them through a rowdy crowd. Gwendolyn certainly stands out, amongst the men here, in her expensive dress. But she ignores the pointed stares as if they don't touch her at all, and as always Mildred is in awe of her.

"Beer." Huck demands, immediately, and Gwendolyn chuckles.

"A little excited, are you, Huck?"

"I need it, after the week we just had at the manor." Huck defends.

"Well, fair enough. A lot of beer and laughter is _exactly_ what the doctor ordered, I think." Gwendolyn chuckles at her own joke.

"That was not funny." Mildred murmurs, and Gwendolyn nudges her. What a nuisance, Mildred thinks fondly.

"Huck, be a gentleman and go to the bar." Gwendolyn says. She seems so relaxed here, her legs crossed, her face warm under the lamps.

"Yes, captain." Huck laughs, and stands.

While he's gone, Mildred and Gwendolyn sit in a comfortable silence, as Mildred looks around at the people. They are mostly men, with a few women scattered here and there - but Mildred does not feel discomfort nor fear. Rather, she has a peculiar feeling of comfort and pride, beside Gwendolyn. How strange, to feel they are the only two people in the world, while surrounded by so many voices.

"What do you think?" Gwendolyn murmurs in her ear, and Mildred shivers.

"It's different here." Mildred says, after a moment. "I quite like it. Or maybe I just like the company."

"There you are again, Mildred, with your compliments." Gwendolyn says, "I'm beginning to think you've become fond of me."

"Me?" Mildred smiles, "Wherever have you got that idea from?"

"Where, indeed." Gwendolyn smiles, tilts her head. She hadn't combed her hair well enough, and now short strands fall in front of her eyes, beautifully improper.

"And anyway, who is to say I meant _your_ company?" Mildred teases.

"Oh, you meant Huck's then?" Gwendolyn chuckles, "Goodness. How many gentleman do you wish to seduce, Mildred? Poor Charles Wainwright."

Mildred pauses. The flicker of jealousy on Gwendolyn's face pleases her, now that she can recognise it. She would tease Gwendolyn, if not for the fact she desperately wishes to clear up the misunderstanding.

"I am not in a courtship with Mr. Wainwright." Mildred says clearly, "And nor do I wish to be in the future."

Gwendolyn blinks at her.

"Ah. Yet you went to dinner with him?"

"Well, you see-" Mildred pauses, "I realised once I was there, with him, that there was- somewhere else I'd rather be."

There is a moment when the words sink in and Mildred gets to see a million emotions cross Gwendolyn's face in an instant. It's beautiful.

"Alas, it gets worse. He _proposed_ to me." Mildred smiles, when Gwendolyn doesn't reply. "It was rather uncomfortable."

"Oh, dear." Gwendolyn chuckles, nervously, running a hand over her loose hair. She looks like she's just trying to keep up. It's surprisingly pleasing to fluster her, Mildred thinks. "Was he quite in love with you?"

"Yes, severely. So much so that he found another lady to proposition immediately afterwards."

"Charming."

"Although, from what I've heard," Mildred leans closer, catches a hint of Gwendolyn's perfume, "You weren't much better than Charles Wainwright."

"I'm sorry?"

"Yes, I heard the rumours. Did you break many women's hearts, Gwendolyn?"

"Well, I-" Gwendolyn frowns, turning pink, and Mildred's smile grows. She mustn't have been expecting Mildred to talk like this about her love for women, so comfortably, as if it's ordinary in a society like this. "It was not like _that._ I simply- you know."

"No, I don't." Mildred says, her knees almost brushing Gwendolyn's. How sweet it is, Mildred thinks, to sit here and play with her like this, to bring up the different emotions on her face. Now she knows Gwendolyn has feelings for her it's surprisingly obvious to see it, in her face and her body and her words, and even more thrilling to be able to taunt her, bring her closer. "You must elaborate."

"Mildred, you are a menace." Gwendolyn says, though there is a smile in my voice, "Well, you see, there have been many women who I've... _spent time_ with. That's true enough."

"Spent time with in what way, exactly?" Mildred's eyes sparkle, "Did you go on a shopping trip? A spot of afternoon tea, perhaps?"

"Mildred." Gwendolyn chuckles, "You know exactly what I mean."

"Oh, don't stop on my behalf. Please, continue."

"They have all been wonderful, and I treasured my time with them, I did. I never broke their hearts on purpose, I just never found anyone who captured my heart enough for me to stay with them, until-" Gwendolyn catches herself quickly. She almost never averts her eyes from anyone, as the eye contact asserts a sort of confidence, a bravado. But now Mildred watches as her gaze turns to the crowd of people around them.

Mildred's heart flutters. Gwendolyn, Mildred thinks, is certainly a romantic.

"And you?" Gwendolyn asks, "What sort of gentleman could fit your standards?"

"I rather think none would." Mildred smiles.

"Ah. You won't give away your heart?"

_I already have,_ Mildred thinks.

"What heart? I didn't think I had one."

"Nonsense." Gwendolyn says, and sets a hand over Mildred's. Warm, giddy in the public house. A private touch in the shadows. "What you did for those women, and for me-"

"I have done nothing for you." Mildred says, giving Gwendolyn a confused smile. "If anything, I have only caused you trouble since we met."

"Oh, Mildred, not at all. You've been a friend to me, and you've _accepted_ me-"

"That is the bare minimum." Mildred says.

"No." Gwendolyn says softly, squeezing her hand, "No, not to me."

Mildred lets out a breath and she wants so badly to turn over her hand and interlace their fingers, to bring them closer and closer in the dark, hidden by the mass of people drinking beer and laughing. Gwendolyn looks at her and Mildred wishes so desperately to capture the moment, to keep it, so that it can never be taken away from them.

But Huck is heading towards them through the crowd with a tray of beer.

"You are dear to me, too." Mildred says quietly, and Gwendolyn's fingers linger on the back of her hand for a moment before slipping away.

*

By the time they return to the manor in their carriage it is so late that the sun is already beginning to rise.

It is that time between the night and the morning, a dusk that is not late nor early. The three friends walk together through it, laughing, filled with the warm, pleasant buzz of alcohol that cannot be cooled by chill air of the garden.

"So there is really no young lady that tempts you?" Gwendolyn asks, as they approach the manor. She's close to Mildred's side, and her hair is completely loose now, sweet and pretty on the side of her neck. Mildred wants to take her arm, but cannot think of an excuse to.

"Why are you asking again?" Huck grumbles. "Even if there were, she would hardly be interested in _me._ "

"What an awful attitude!" Gwendolyn laughs, "And why is that? You are kind, and good, and charming-"

"I have no fortune, and no looks. That's what people want out of a marriage, isn't it?"

"He has a point." Mildred says, and Gwendolyn sends her a glance as if to say, _traitor._

"Nonsense. Love does exist, Huck, and you _will_ find it."

"Have you been reading a lot of poetry lately, Gwendolyn?" Mildred giggles. _"I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life-"_

"What has gotten into you today, Mildred? You are even more of a pest than usual." Gwendolyn laughs, as they take the manor steps, "Tell me, Huck, there must be someone. There _is,_ isn't there?"

"Well, I- there is a young lady-" Huck shakes his head. "Never mind."

"Oh, come _on."_

_"_ It wouldn't work. She is obviously in love with someone else, and I have nothing to offer her."

"What is the name of this mysterious young woman?" Mildred asks curiously.

"I cannot tell you. You would tell her."

"I would not." Mildred lies.

"Mildred is wonderful at keeping secrets, when she wants to. The problem is that she hardly ever wants to." Gwendolyn says.

"When did you make that observation?" Mildred asks.

"I know you well enough by now." Gwendolyn smiles, "Anyway, Huck, you must confess to us. Who is this woman?"

"Oh, fine. It's the housekeeper, alright?" Huck turns red, and scuffs his feet on the carpet. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight, ladies."

He leaves without waiting for a response, and Gwendolyn chuckles fondly and turns to Mildred.

"He is a darling, isn't he?" She says.

"And rather smitten with _Betsy,_ it seems." Mildred says, "Now there is an unlikely couple."

"Stranger things have happened." Gwendolyn says, "How do you feel about another drink? I _know_ you want to scheme. I can see it in your face. You're working out the best possible way to get them alone in a room together-"

"Do stop trying to read my mind, Miss Briggs." Mildred giggles, "It's rather impolite."

"Oh, I do apologise." Gwendolyn holds out her arm for Mildred to take. Finally, Mildred thinks, fitting herself in beside Gwendolyn, "Come on."

They walk together, to Gwendolyn's room, Mildred presumes. On the way they see everyone gathered in the drawing room, _still_ argued, which gives Mildred a glow of smugness. It's so satisfying, to make these people feel this way, after they have spent so many years belittling her.

It's further through the manor that they hear a noise from behind an ajar door. Mildred peers around it, as curious as always.

"Oh, dear." She says, "Gwendolyn, look."

Inside, Edmund and Dolly are very much wrapped up in one another. Gwendolyn raises an eyebrow at Mildred.

"Goodness, is there no end to the scandals of Hanover manor?" She whispers.

"I'm afraid not." Mildred giggles, and they laugh until they're safely tucked into Gwendolyn's bedroom. It smells like her. Like sweetness and home.

Gwendolyn sits on the edge of the bed and pats the space beside her.

"Come and sit with me." She says, "Tell me all of those ideas in that clever little brain of yours."

"What makes you think I would share them with _you_?" Mildred asks. She sits beside Gwendolyn, her hands on her lap, feeling rather wonderful. The type of nervous that feels good and warm. Everything flickers with the sunrise as Gwendolyn's pours them a glass of gin from Trevor's suitcase.

"Just a hunch." Gwendolyn says, and a smile blooms on her cheeks as she suddenly thinks of something. How endearing she is, Mildred thinks. "Oh, Mildred. We've had a lovely day, haven't we?"

"Yes." Mildred says, taking the glass from her. Gwendolyn had said _we, we, we,_ as if they just come as a pair now.

"You agree so quickly. Yet I truly thought that you were to leave me after that night... when I told you..." Gwendolyn's face changes, and she quickly takes a sip of gin. A fear, a vulnerability, that Mildred isn't familiar with seeing on her face, shines through her expression. There are parts to Gwendolyn that Mildred still doesn't know, but she is determined to uncover them. "I thought it was to be the end of us, once I admitted the truth of myself to you."

"I am not going anywhere." Mildred raises her eyebrows, "You have made sure of that."

Gwendolyn lets out a weak chuckle. There's a sound as if someone is walking away, down the corridor, but Mildred doesn't pay attention to it.

"But I have been having the thought, recently, that if I were to lose you-" Gwendolyn pauses, and Mildred is moved by the emotion on her face. How quickly she opens for Mildred, how much she blooms. Mildred is learning so much about her, so much she never expected the first time she saw that confident, bold performer on the stage.

"You will not."

"If you were to go, I would-"

"Gwendolyn." Mildred says sharply. She takes one of Gwendolyn's hands firmly in her hands, and looks into her eyes. Mildred tries to harden her gaze enough that it is hard and unyielding and Gwendolyn has no room for any more doubt. "Listen to me carefully. You are my dear friend, and I know there have been times where I have been distant but I will not and I will _never_ leave you."

Gwendolyn looks at her, her chest rising and falling.

"Do you have so little faith in me?" Mildred asks, in a small voice.

"Forgive me. I have a terrible habit of underestimating you." Gwendolyn attempts a smile, "Oh, Mildred. Why are you here? You must know- surely, you must know-"

Mildred's heart stops. Is this the moment, where she is faced with Gwendolyn's feelings directly? When Gwendolyn's heart finally, finally sits beside them, on these expensive bedsheets? How delightful it would be, to hear those words from Gwendolyn's mouth. About a desire for Mildred. Maybe even- _love._

"What?" Mildred murmurs. "Tell me."

Gwendolyn reaches out with her free hand and cups Mildred's face with her hand. Her hands are so cold and so gentle and there is a wonder in her eyes as she rubs a thumb over Mildred's skin. Mildred feels as if she's melting, inside, and she closes her eyes and leans her cheek into Gwendolyn's palm.

"Oh." Gwendolyn's breath flutters as she speaks. "Mildred, you mustn't. You mustn't do this to me."

The warm, tender respite of Gwendolyn's palm. It is safe, and real, and Mildred has never known this, yet it feels so achingly familiar, like she has been resting on the ghost of Gwendolyn's hand for a lifetime. Mildred does not know what will happen next. For once, she has no wish to manipulate the moment, to shape it to her own will. It is far sweeter to just live in it.

Then the screams ring out in the darkness. Pain and terror, violence loud in their ears, over and over again. It's a haunting scream, and the two women spring apart, looking at each other with wide eyes that betray fear at the screams that echo so cruelly throughout the manor.

And, here, is where their respite ends.


	16. the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't you remember the story of this county's killer? It was quite famous a few years ago."
> 
> "He was said to be a man that comes at night, steals your riches, and kills the noble in their sleep." Gwendolyn breathes. "The last time we were in England we were told this story."

For a moment, the two women simply stare at each other in surprise.

The screams feel so out of place. The evening had seemed such a delight, stretching ahead of them under the moonlight. With Gwendolyn's hand on her cheek, Mildred had thought the feeling would last forever - that sweet respite, a place where the rest of the world fades into nothingness, into a blank and empty space. The only grounding point was Gwendolyn's touch, heavy and warm but not quite enough. It was glorious.

But in an instant that peace had been ripped away from them. A scream had shattered the silence.

"What-" Gwendolyn begins to say, and then another screams sounds in the darkness, and another. Raw, guttural things - like pain as a noise.

Gwendolyn pales, her skin becoming pasty under the moonlight.

"Mildred, is someone screaming?" Gwendolyn asks, as if she doesn't know they are.

As if a spell has broken, Mildred turns her head sharply towards the source of the noise and Gwendolyn's hand falls from her cheek limply, their warm bubble of... _something more_ fading away and leaving only fear behind.

"It sounds as if it's coming from this corridor." Mildred says, in a hushed voice, and stands. She's surprised by how steady her legs are, and how clearly she thinks as she grabs a poker from the fire. She turns to the door, and feels a flash of concern when Gwendolyn doesn't follow. "Hurry, Gwendolyn!"

"Y-Yes." Gwendolyn says, and rises. She's unsteady on her feet, and trembles as she grasps for Mildred's sleeve. Mildred hardly recognises her as they step from the bedchamber, and she realises another side of Gwendolyn is greeting her. Here is a woman who seems so fragile, so delicate as they walk on their tiptoes towards the source of those screams. Mildred adores her, regardless.

Through dark shadows they find their way, Gwendolyn clinging to Mildred all the while. Then, as abruptly as they had arrived, the screams simply... _stop._ The silence is worse, Mildred thinks.

"That's Lenore Osgood's room." Gwendolyn whispers, when they've reached the end of the corridor.

Mildred nods, just slightly. Her hand doesn't tremble as she reaches for the doorknob. Shadows are emerging from the darkness, curious and worried guests popping their heads out of their doors or lining up behind them. _Open it,_ she hears someone hiss behind her. So Mildred takes a breath and turns the doorknob.

Inside the room is visible only by the moonlight, until a guest steps ahead of Mildred and lights the room with a burning lamp. The glow illuminates the room. It seems bare of very much at all - suitcases have been emptied, draws wide open as if they've been looked through, and the room is scattered only with remnants of its inhabitant.

It is only Mildred, with her sharp, calm eyes, who notices these details. The rest are focused on the centre of the room, where an elegant four poster bed has had its curtains ripped crudely open. In the centre of the sheets is Lenore, lying motionless in the moonlight. Around her is a pool of blood, sinking crimson into the silk sheets, still glistening damp. When Mildred steps closer she sees a long, jagged wound stretching across Lenore's neck, still bleeding, though her eyes are open and motionless with death.

Mildred's eyes flicker to the foot of the bed. There lies a scrap of fabric, brown and grass stained, with blood in the corner. It seems as if it's been ripped from a pair of dungarees. And it's unmistakeable who it belongs to. Mildred glances around her to make sure no one is watching, and subtly pushes it underneath the bed with her shoe, so that it cannot be seen.

As the truth of what is in front of them sinks in, a chorus of noises fill the bedchamber. Some of shock, some of disgust and others quick, hurried whispers. Gwendolyn steps in front of Mildred to survey the scene, and when she sees Lenore's corpse she gasps. As she stumbles backwards, Mildred catches her, and lets Gwendolyn lean against her. She's trembling.

"It's alright." Mildred murmurs. Gwendolyn shakes her head, and Mildred keeps her hands on Gwendolyn's arms, a calming, grounding touch. She glances behind them, and sees Huck try to comfort a startled Betsy, who turns away from him easily.

_Edmund,_ Mildred thinks, fury rising in her as if a burning fire. When he had said he had a _bigger plan_ for the manor she had thought he'd meant something less crude, less violent - the gruesome scene in front of her doesn't feel like the Edmund she'd gotten to know. The Edmund she _cares_ about.

It's then that Mildred realises she must've never known him at all, not really.

But then... hadn't Mildred's _own_ fantasies of control sometimes took a more violent tone? Hadn't she also been so angry and so _tired_ sometimes that she, too, would've succumbed to something so grim if pushed just a little further? As Mildred stands and watches the chaos unfold in front of her, she isn't just faced with Edmund. She's faced with the version of herself that she most fears.

"What is happening here?" A familiar voice calls out gruffly.

Bleary eyed with sleep, Hanover storms into the bedchamber, and Mildred watches curiously as he storms closer to the bed. He turns pale, and steps backwards.

"Jesus." He hisses. No one notices the blasphemy, too caught in shock. "What has happened here?"

"The children." Mildred says suddenly, "The children, where are they?"

"They- They're in bed, I presume." Hanover says, turning to her, and then his eyes gloss over in realisation. "Oh, Mildred, yes, thank you. Betsy, keep Liza and Eddie away from here, please."

Betsy nods and stumbles from the room, her hand pressed to her chest.

The silence of horror and shock becomes numbing, and eventually Lenore's son speaks. He sounds eerily calm, as if all feeling has been taken from him, extracted along with his mother's life.

"Who did this?" He asks, "Did anyone see what happened?"

What's worse than the corpse in front of the guests is the sudden realisation that someone must have _committed_ this act, must have come into this bedchamber and done something unspeakable.

"Well, it must've been someone in the manor." The son says. They all look at each other, suspicious.

"Not necessarily." Hanover says, and runs a hand over his face. "Don't you remember the story of this county's killer? It was quite famous a few years ago."

"He was said to be a man that comes at night, steals your riches, and kills the noble in their sleep." Gwendolyn breathes. "The last time we were in England we were told this story."

"That's right." Hanover says, "Isn't it said he slashes the throat, too?"

Mildred remembers this tale, from several years ago. Several murders had taken place over the course of two years, and they all had similar characteristics - rich families had been slaughtered, and none of their possessions had been left behind. The tale had died out once the murders stopped abruptly. Mildred hasn't heard stories of it in a while, except from the cook. Louise did love gossip.

Was Edmund the real perpetrator of these crimes?

"Then it could have been any of us." Charlotte Wells says faintly, "Dead in our beds."

"But hasn't that killer been caught?" Trevor asks. "I'm sure I remember reading about his arrest in the States."

"He was never caught." Charlotte murmurs. "You must be thinking of something else."

"Clearly not." Lenore's son drawls, sounding eerily similar to Lenore. "Otherwise we wouldn't be here right now."

Mildred thinks in silence, Gwendolyn held loosely in her arms. Could Edmund really be a serial killer? To her this scene seems a little too crude, a little too messy, to be considered the work of a practiced killer. He had left that scrap of fabric behind, and Mildred is sure there will be other small pieces of evidence left around the room, just waiting to be discovered.

"We should consider other possibilities. If not the killer, then why Lenore?" Charles Wainwright asks.

"She has her fair share of enemies." Her son cackles. The sound is jarring, the laughter so oddly out of place. "To be honest, I'm surprised she wasn't killed sooner."

"That's an awful thing to say." Charlotte says.

"True, though."

"I think it will happen again." Mildred says quietly, a firm interruption. All eyes turn to her.

"Why?" Hanover, pale, looks towards her.

"This scene looks vengeful, I agree. But if the culprit was seeking revenge against Lenore, why would they follow her here instead of at home?" Mildred says, "It seems likely they have other targets."

"If that's true, their main target would be the head of this manor..." Lenore's son smiles like a sly cat. "Doctor Hanover."

"Now, there's no need to jump to conclusions." Hanover says, turning even paler. "It is ridiculous to speculate. I will call the constable first thing in the morning. Until then, let us leave this place."

"I'm not going back to my chambers." Charlotte says, "What if someone else is killed?"

"Then we shall all retire to the drawing room, instead of hovering over a bloody corpse." Hanover shakes his head, and turns away. "Come."

Silently the guests depart. All except Gwendolyn, who hovers by the bed, looking so scared and so _sad_ that it hurts Mildred. Personally she feels very little - when looking upon the body she simply feels only a tremor of surprise, and perhaps the smallest hint of grief.

Gwendolyn hardly knew Lenore. Yet she steps forward and covers her with a blanket, then closes her eyes.

"Rest well." Gwendolyn murmurs, and turns away. Mildred follows, wondering at how different the two of them are. How impersonal Mildred's reaction had been, compared to Gwendolyn's. She thinks of the tide - hers, a calm blue, and Gwendolyn's, raging like a storm.

*

The constable arrives at the manor just as the sun is rising.

Gwendolyn watches in a haze as the large man tips his hat to them. Hanover greets him and then the two of them leave the drawing room, most likely so that the constable can assess the scene of the crime. Gwendolyn _sees_ all of this, in theory, but it passes by. Not notable, not sinking in. All she can think about is the body in the bedchamber. Anything else is simply a ghost.

She's surprised at how _scared_ she is. It's an unfamiliar feeling. Gwendolyn had thought she had struggled, and that she'd seen every inch of life, but she'd never seen anything like Lenore's death. The _violence_ of it had been so cruel, and for a moment Gwendolyn had been struck with the reality of the world.

Next to Gwendolyn, Trevor is making small circles on her back with his hand. If Gwendolyn could feel it, it would be soothing, but she's numb.

Her eyes land on Mildred, who's sitting in a corner of the room with the children. The youngest, the boy, is sitting on her lap. He's half asleep, his hair falling over his eyes. Liza is looking curiously around the room, and the way she smiles makes Gwendolyn think that the child must think she's been stuck in the midst of a novel. It would be amusing, under different circumstances. Gwendolyn watches the three of them, with Mildred firm and steady at the centre, and is slightly soothed.

The constable returns, and the room that had been filled with whispers falls silent.

"Well." The constable says, holding his hat to his chest. "This is a dreadful affair."

"Hurry up and tell us what happened." Lenore's son says, and without his mother there to scold him, the rude manners go unchecked. Gwendolyn sees Mildred's jaw clench, and again she's soothed with the familiarity of the governess. Of course she would be irritated by impoliteness, even at a time like this.

"I haven't seen something like this in a while." The constable says grimly. He steps into the drawing room and sits in an armchair, one leg folded over the other.

"Is it the work of-" Hanover begins, and the constable silences him with a hand.

"The cases do share a large amount of similarities with him that can't be ignored, yes. I won't rule out that possibility," The constable admits, "However, this would be the job of an inspector, not a police constable, to find out. The best I can do is send a few men to guard the premises while you hire someone to investigate this."

"Useless." Lenore's son murmurs.

Gwendolyn watches Mildred, who's eyes have strayed to the greenery, her face as calm and still as always. There's something grounding about her expressionless face, and Gwendolyn looks towards it every time the panic rises in her again, finding solace in the blankness.

"Thank you, constable." Hanover says, running a hand through his hair.

The police constable nods.

"What's your guess?" Charles Wainwright asks, "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know. There's been a lot of reports of theft around these parts recently, but that's it. Streets in the city are usually full of crime. Less common out here, though." The constable shrugs.

"Now that you mention it, all of us here have been stolen from since we arrived here." Trevor says, "Perhaps it's related?"

"Again, you're better off talking about this with the inspector. But my best guess is that this is a theft gotten out of hand. I recommend that no one leaves here until the investigation is complete. It's most likely the culprit is still here - there were no signs of a break in."

"Yes, I suspect the culprit came with the guests. There have been incidents going on for a while now. I should've sorted it, before..." Hanover swallows. "In any case, no one leaves here until we find out what happened. Goodness, this whole thing has been a disaster. First my surgery, then this..."

Gwendolyn watches the crowd of guests, still feeling faint. The culprit could be _anyone._ Death seems so _real_ now, intimately close when it never had been before, and she feels it brush against her shoulder. What if it had been Trevor, or _Mildred_ on that bed? Her stomach lurches. Horrific fantasies flash behind her eyes until she realises the drawing room has begun to clear

"Come on, darling." Trevor murmurs. "You must eat."

"Hm?" Gwendolyn says, rubbing a hand over her face.

"It's time for breakfast. Come, we'll retire to the dining hall."

Gwendolyn nods and glances to the corner of the room Mildred had been in, and finds it empty of her and the children. She stands slowly, letting Trevor take her arm.

"You mustn't worry so. I'm sure this matter will be resolved soon." Trevor says, patting her arm. Gwendolyn doesn't reply, but his presence is comforting, and she seeks these small glows of comfort in a manor that has suddenly become so cold, and so daunting.

*

_"What have you done?_ " Mildred hisses.

Under the sunlight Edmund seems innocent and child-like. He's pruning a rose bush, and there's this sparkle in his eyes when he turns his head and looks up at her. She watches his hands as they cut and slice and knows they have taken a life, just recently. She wonders what sort of feeling that produces. If it's powerful. If it takes some of the weakness and submission away.

She's not worried they'll be seen talking together like this - they won't be suspicious, not yet, because everyone is still so shaken. For now they can speak in the garden without prying ears, and so Edmund seems unbothered by her openness.

"You're a sharp one, Miss. I'm assuming they found the body. She was making a rather lot of noise, wasn't she?" Edmund says, tilting his head. He looks as if he's been caught pulling a mischievous prank. It would be disturbing to anyone but Mildred. "What gave me away?"

"You left evidence everywhere. And before you lie, I know you aren't the killer from several years ago." Mildred says, "You are far too sloppy for that. Only a fool wouldn't know it was a copycat."

"Thankfully, they're all fools." Edmund chuckles. "Hey, you don't seem pleased. What's bothering you? Surely it doesn't upset you that she's dead?"

"Really, Edmund, I didn't think this is what you meant by a _bigger plan._ " Mildred says, "Why Lenore Osgood?"

"She's the richest there." Edmund says. "It felt appropriate. She's just the first victim, anyway."

"Hanover is next, I presume?"

"Course. God, that bastard." Edmund shudders, "I'd love to rip him limb from limb."

"Isn't stealing from them enough? You know I never minded it. I've even become complicit in it." Mildred says "So why do you have to cause _this_ much trouble?"

Edmund stands and brushes down his dungarees. He steps closer to her, and twinkles with humour, with pride. There's something more confident about him now. Something darker in his eyes. It's as if he's transforming, changing into something new.

"You have no idea, Mildred, how it felt to finally be the one with the _power._ " Edmund breathes. "Don't you want to take back what they stole from us? They've robbed us of dignity, and money, all of our lives. So I've robbed them of their lives. And when the life drained from her eyes... God. I finally felt like _I_ was in control."

Mildred can understand this, somewhat. That longing for control, over everyone who has demeaned her.

"And so you will slaughter all of them?"

"When I came here, I just planned on stealing. I heard there'd be a big event at the manor soon and I thought it'd be a great opportunity to earn some money. I have _nothing,_ Miss. I'd just escaped from the workhouse, you see, and after what they put me through-" Edmund shakes his head, shadows passing over his face, "And then I came here. I took on a new identity, you know, so I'd have the credentials to work here. And everyone treat me like the dirt on their shoes. Nobody even knows my name. All of the resentment inside of me- Then I heard that story, from the cook, about the man who killed the rich in their beds. So I decided _I'll_ kill them, one by one. I'll take _everything_ they have."

Mildred pauses, considering this. She supposes in other people it might inspire a more passionate, moral reaction, but to her the logic of this, the feeling behind it, is understandable. She feels empathetic, even, as she looks upon this boy who is so like her. If she had not met Gwendolyn, then maybe _she_ would have turned out like this. Bitter enough to kill.

At the thought of Gwendolyn, Mildred pales with realisation. Finally, horror and dread creep up on her.

"Then you plan to kill Gwendolyn, too?" The thought makes her prickle with anger, with _defensiveness._ She would protect Gwendolyn with her life, even if it meant betraying Edmund.

Edmund's smile turns teasing at Mildred's emotional reaction. His eyes flicker to her clenched fists.

"I suppose I could make an exception for you, if you asked nicely." Edmund says. "I doubt I'll get around to killing everyone, anyway. They'll catch me before then. Hanover's got the money to hire a good investigator. But killing them one by one, making them fear when the next will be struck... that fear will last a lifetime. I couldn't overpower them on my own. At least like this, I have some power."

"You'll be executed if you're caught. I don't understand why you'd do this, when you could just take the riches and go."

"It's not about the fortune anymore. It's about reclaiming my life." Edmund says. "I want them to feel pain, before I die. This is the best way."

Mildred bites her lip.

"Look, Miss, I know you're like me. I don't know what your life has been like, but I _know_ that you understand me, and that you won't turn me in if you can help it." Edmund steps toward her again, and puts a warm hand on her shoulder. His eyes are slightly deranged, but Mildred looks beyond that and still sees herself mirrored in him. "Hey, what if you joined me? You're clever enough to help us get away with it. After this is over we'll be rich, and powerful-"

Mildred shakes her head just slightly.

"I would have said yes, if you'd asked me before-" _Before Gwendolyn._ "Before I found reasons to stay in this damned place."

"You won't turn me in though, will you?" Edmund asks.

"No." Mildred admits.

"Course not." Edmund pats her shoulder.

"But that does not mean I will join you." Mildred says quickly.

"Look, you don't have to come with me if you don't want to. But consider trying it. Hurt one of them, just once, and you'll see what I mean. I care about you, Miss. So I want you to see your potential." Edmund says, "Listen, Hanover spends time in the office when he's stressed. Tomorrow night, I'll trap him there. I know you hate him. I know how awful he makes you feel. Kill him, Mildred. Then maybe you'll change your mind."

All around them birds tweet, clouds passing by. Sunlight falls on Mildred's hands. She stands there, thinking, her mind swirling with possibilities. She feels two images of the world conflict and contrast. Her peaceful, beautiful world with Gwendolyn - rich, secret, beautiful. And this world that Edmund presents to her, cruel and violent but _powerful,_ a way to reclaim her identity and her strength.

"You don't have to decide now. But if you do decide to come along, be at Hanover's office when the clock strikes twelve." Edmund says, "I'll wait for you there."

Mildred just looks at him as he nods and turns away. She watches him leave, again feeling that compassion and companionship for Edmund. Despite the blood on his hands. Despite everything. Would it be so awful, to rid herself of Hanover and thus her inferior status? She replays every word he's said to her, every way he's touched or irritated her, and lets them burn and flicker into _rage._

Standing there alone, Mildred is unsure of what she'll do. Darkness and light flicker equally inside of her, but one must conquer.

*

Mildred is still turning over recent events in her head that night when a knock sounds on the door of her bedchamber.

She doubts most of the manor are sleeping. She supposes each person must be filled with dread and fear, replaying over and over again the sight of Lenore on her bedspread, that wound deep in her neck. Her own thoughts are different, as she remembers her past and wonders about the future. But these thoughts bother her as much as the guests' might to them.

She's realised, in the darkness of her bedchamber, that she doesn't really know _who_ she is. Mildred feels devoid of morals, of opinions, of agency. All she knows are her feelings, that taunt her and confuse her. Her sweet, aching feelings for Gwendolyn. And her rage and hatred for everyone who has slighted her.

With a yawn she stands on the cold wooden floor. Mildred notices it, all of a sudden - how the hard floorboards sting against her bare feet. She has grown so used to it that she hadn't even registered how cold and harsh this room really was. After her conversation with Edmund she'd spent the entire day caring for the children, comforting them and keeping them preoccupied with games, and yet this is what she received for her efforts. Thin sheets and shivers.

A flare of anger burns and makes Mildred once again revaluate what it is she _really_ wants.

She turns the doorknob, and is surprised when Gwendolyn's face cuts through the shadows.

"Gwendolyn?" Mildred asks, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Gwendolyn opens her mouth, and then closes it.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come-" She turns to leave, embarrassment etched into the lines of her face.

"No." Mildred says gently, and takes Gwendolyn's wrist. It's warm under Mildred's cold fingers, and Gwendolyn pauses and turns to her. Her face is more open than usual under the moonlight. "Is something the matter?"

A foolish question, Mildred thinks. She had seen how much Lenore's death had shaken Gwendolyn.

"I didn't-" Gwendolyn swallows, "I didn't want to be alone tonight. I know I have Trevor, but I-"

She averts her eyes, and a small smile twitches on Mildred's face. Gwendolyn seems embarrassed by her own vulnerability, and it's oddly charming. She recalls the night before, when Gwendolyn had pressed a hand to her cheek and trembled. How endearing she is, a million things at once.

"Oh, darling." Mildred says, "Come and sit with me."

"I don't wish to intrude-"

"Gwendolyn." Mildred says, rubbing circles on the inside of Gwendolyn's wrist, "You are my dear friend. You can lean on me, for as long as you need."

Gwendolyn sighs, before giving a slight nod. It's enough for Mildred to smile wider and pull her inside, clicking the door shut behind her. The two sit on the edge of Mildred's rickety bed, and Gwendolyn still doesn't appear herself, is still void of brightness and colour.

"What is the matter?" Mildred asks quietly. "Do you want to talk about what happened last night?"

"I-" Gwendolyn takes a breath. Mildred wants to pull her to her chest, and protect her from the world, so that she can still the trembling in her bones. Make her feel safe again. There is so much compassion and protectiveness inside of Mildred that she feels smothered in it. "I've never seen death before. It- it can change a person, seeing something like that."

The silence stretches, until Gwendolyn is brave again. Mildred finds it easy to be patient, when she knows it will help Gwendolyn. That quiet is necessary to push her forward, to give her space.

"I'm scared, Mildred." Gwendolyn says. Her voice breaks, cracking over the words. "I don't think I have ever said that before."

Mildred nods, shifting closer. She takes Gwendolyn's hands in her own, and covers them, until they are blanketed by Mildred's palms. A part of her is being warmed and kept safe by Mildred's touch.

"I'm so used to being brave." Gwendolyn says.

"There is no need to be afraid." Mildred says clearly, firmly, because there is no room for doubt. "I will not let you be hurt, do you understand me?"

Gwendolyn meets her eyes, at last, and seems surprised by the certainty in Mildred's gaze.

"How you can be so sure of it?"

"Because I refuse to let you be taken from me." Mildred says.

A teasing memory echoes in the room. A lighter night, when they had joked together, when Gwendolyn had refused to let her be ill. The ghost of the moment makes Gwendolyn smile, just slightly, some of her fear slipping away.

"You are too good to me." Gwendolyn says.

"No." Mildred's smile fades slightly. "No, I'm afraid it's the other way around."

For a moment Mildred considers confessing everything. The words linger on her tongue. If she told Gwendolyn the truth - that Edmund had killed Lenore, that he was planning on killing more, that Mildred had been complicit in it - would Gwendolyn run from her? Mildred swallows the confession. She would rather keep Gwendolyn in ignorance. Because never, in any timeline, would Gwendolyn love these ugly parts of her. The truth of her is unlovable.

"Oh, Mildred. I'm so glad you're here with me." Gwendolyn says. The only reason she can speak so tenderly, Mildred thinks, is because she doesn't know who Mildred really is.

Still, it's easy to live in the fantasy. Mildred smiles, bending down to kiss a gentle kiss to Gwendolyn's hands.

"So much has changed." Mildred says. "But that will remain the same."

Gwendolyn just breathes and looks at her, the colour gradually returning to her cheeks.

"That day I saw you in the crowd," Gwendolyn murmurs, "It must be the best thing that has ever happened to me."

Yes, Mildred thinks, me too.

"You exaggerate." Mildred laughs.

"Perhaps." Gwendolyn smiles, "But I believe it, regardless."

It's intimate, to be vulnerable under the moonlight. Gwendolyn continues to bloom like a flower and shows Mildred parts of herself that Mildred knows she's never shown anyone before. It is an honour she doesn't deserve.

"It is late." Mildred says, "Do you want to stay here tonight?"

Gwendolyn blinks.

"Oh, don't misunderstand me. I wouldn't proposition you at a time like this." Mildred giggles. "I only mean to say that you are clearly shaken, and I don't wish for you to part from me like this. I do not mind if you stay with me."

"Mildred, are you sure?"

"You know I wouldn't ask if I weren't."

Gwendolyn nods, a smile blooming in her cheeks again. How easily her fear fades around Mildred. Mildred feels guilt swirling inside of her. In her mind a question asks again and again, _what will you do?_ She should turn Edmund in. She should confess to Gwendolyn the truth, no matter the consequences.

She doesn't.

Instead Mildred lets the night fall deeper. She lets Gwendolyn stay, and borrow one of her night gowns. She lets Gwendolyn slip into the bed beside her. The bed is so small they are completely pressed together and the silence is so tense, so warm, crackling between them. Mildred breathes, and hears each rise of Gwendolyn's chest in the dark too.

After a while Mildred turns on her side. Gwendolyn's eyes are shut, her breathing deep as she sleeps. Gwendolyn has not slept since the night before yesterday, Mildred thinks, and the combination of this and the stress must have made her weary. Yet it's irritating, to lie nervous in the dark while Gwendolyn sleeps soundly beside her.

After all, her heart is pounding. Her eyes trace the side of Gwendolyn's face, and her hair curling over her shoulder, and her skin lit only by moonlight. Mildred lets out a sigh and rests her head on Gwendolyn's shoulders.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs into the darkness, knowing Gwendolyn won't hear it. By midnight tomorrow, Mildred must make a choice. She must know what she wants.

For now, she breathes in Gwendolyn, and wishes it would last for an eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies that the gaps between updates have gotten a little wider lately! thank you as always for reading <3
> 
> what do you think mildred will do?
> 
> i hope lenore's death wasn't too shocking. i've been attempting to foreshadow something going wrong for quite a while now, and i just hope it fits in with this story the way intended it to!


	17. puzzle pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You mustn't." Mildred murmurs.
> 
> "Hm?" 
> 
> "You mustn't give me hope." Mildred says, "For it will always be taken away from me."

Mildred wakes in an embrace.

When her eyes flutter open, she sees nothing but hazy darkness, which she soon realises is because her face is buried in Gwendolyn's chest. Mildred stirs, just slightly, feeling Gwendolyn's hand shift around her waist as she does. The other woman smells musky, hints of yesterday's perfume invading Mildred's senses. She breathes in, her heart picking up its pace, and reality sinks in.

Somehow, during the night, they had ended up like this. Mildred's hands are on Gwendolyn's chest, just below her collar, gripping the fabric as if keeping her there. Gwendolyn has one hand on her waist, the other on the centre of Mildred's back - her hands burn through Mildred's skin and Mildred's mind goes completely blank, when she notices the touches.

Mildred is so delightfully warm and comfortable and _held_ that she doesn't want to move. She finds that a part of her - a rather large part - wants desperately to sink into this embrace and never leave the small, rickety bed that they're lying in together. They've never been so close. To wake in Gwendolyn's arms is an intimacy that Mildred would've struggled to imagine, but here it is, like an unexpected gift.

It's painfully bittersweet.

This lazy morning is a cruel reminder of the life they can't have. So much, Mildred thinks, stands between them and this comfortable slice of domesticity. First is the obvious: there are no women who can love other women in public - or, if there are, Mildred doesn't know them. Then there is the fact Gwendolyn's home is thousands of miles away. Mildred sometimes remembers this, and is startled, because it sometimes seems as if Gwendolyn has been beside her for her entire life. Gwendolyn is of a different status, too. Then there is Edmund, and the darkness in Mildred's heart, that she can never show.

Are they just not meant to be?

Mildred lies in the embrace for a moment longer before slipping out of the bed. She looks down at Gwendolyn, fast asleep on her pillows, and a tiny smile brightens her features. How old and tired and utterly lovely Gwendolyn looks. An angel who _I_ never deserved, she thinks.

When she'd risen from the bed Mildred had jostled the bedsheets. So she covers Gwendolyn with blankets again, and tucks her in with a full and aching heart. For a moment she lingers. She wants to kiss her, but doesn't - can't.

Mildred needs to think. She needs to walk, and read, and _think,_ until the puzzle pieces slot together again. She knows the answer to every problem except for this one. _Gwendolyn._ An anomaly she could never entirely predict, or figure out.

She pulls on her usual dress and steps out into the servants' corridor, her arms wrapped around her chest to keep her warm. The manor is freezing. Perhaps Gwendolyn is the only warm spot in the entire place. Mildred steps further and further from her bedchamber, her mind darkening the further she gets from Gwendolyn.

The manor is eerily silent. Death hangs over the building like a rain cloud, and Mildred feels uneasy underneath it. It feels as if another storm is brewing, and perhaps she will be the thunder and lightning, not Edmund, this time.

Mildred's gloomy ruminations are disrupted when she sees a figure, sitting and smoking on a window ledge.

She steps forward curiously, her eyes making out a pretty face and delicate features. Dolly, Mildred thinks. The girl leans her head against the window, which must be freezing cold. She's staring into the darkness of the early morning, and Mildred can see her eyes in the glass' reflection: they're haunted.

"Miss Knight." Mildred says quietly, so not to startle the young woman.

She turns her head, and Mildred shouldn't have worried. There's something brazen and angry about her, despite her outward appearance, and it suits her surprisingly well. She raises her eyebrows, and if Mildred were a weaker person she may even be _intimidated_ by Dolly.

"What do you want?" Dolly asks, blowing out smoke. Mildred has seen her acting gracefully, with proper manners, in front of her family. She supposes outside of their influence Dolly prefers to be as rude as she can possibly be.

_What do you want?_ Mildred supposes she has a point. Before Gwendolyn, Mildred didn't dare to approach strangers. But here she is, befriending them, over and over again.

"Nothing in particular. I was just taking a morning stroll, and I happened to come across you." Mildred says. Dolly turns her head back to the grounds, seemingly disinterested. "Are you well?"

"Yes." Dolly says, "And I'd prefer to be alone, if you don't mind."

Mildred supposes Dolly prefers a more direct approach, than approaching conversation through small talk and manners.

"Right then." Mildred says, and checks there is nobody listening before continuing, "You know what Edmund did, don't you, to Lenore Osgood?"

This captures Dolly's attention. She turns her eyes sharply back to Mildred.

"And you know what he's planning to do?" Mildred continues. It's not a question - it's a statement.

Mildred had known it as soon as she met Dolly's eyes. There's a darkness in them much like Edmund's. But if Edmund is cold rage, and Mildred is quiet rage, then Dolly is hot and vibrant rage. Each with their own irritations and angers, just expressed differently.

"How do _you_ know?" Dolly asks.

"I'm Edmund's friend." Mildred says, taking a step closer to Dolly. "Give me that."

She inhales from Dolly's cigar before handing it back to her.

"I suppose you want to stop him." Dolly says, and a wicked smile flashes on her face, "I wouldn't try that, if I were you. He has agency in the world. By which I mean, me."

"Oh." Mildred says, "But I thought the _reason_ you are so willing to go along with him is because you have no agency. I was under the impression you feel slighted by your family and outcast in society, and so you are willing to burn it all down just for a taste of freedom."

Dolly narrows her eyebrows.

"You talk like you understand me." She says.

"I do." Mildred says softly, and steps closer again. "But Miss Knight, doesn't Edmund disgust you? After everything he's done?"

"No." Dolly admits easily, "In fact I love him more because of it."

A sharp wave of pain passes over her, and Mildred closes her eyes. Because she suddenly imagines being faced with _Gwendolyn's_ unconditional love. What if Gwendolyn loved her, despite her darkness, despite her sharper edges? Is such a thing possible? If Dolly can love Edmund like this, can Gwendolyn love her like that...?

No, Mildred thinks, taking a deep breath.

"Don't you?" Dolly asks.

"No, we're different. You love him because of his darkness, and I love him _despite_ it." Mildred says, "Yet I can't help but understand why he wants to do this."

"Yeah." Dolly cracks a small smile, and it softens her rage just a little. "Kind of irresistible, isn't it? The idea of getting away from here, I mean. I want to cut my hair. I want to- I want to dance on tables. I'm so sick of being... proper."

Mildred smiles back.

"I, too, want impossible things." She says.

"Like Miss Briggs?" Dolly asks, and giggles when she sees the startled look on Mildred's face. "What?"

"Are our affairs the entire manor's business?" Mildred asks. She doesn't even bother to deny it. Lying is growing tiresome, coating her mouth like tar.

"Well, no, it's just- people like us, we have to stick together. Outcasts, I mean. We are naturally drawn together. Look, I could tell that Gwendolyn Briggs preferred the fairer sex from a mile away." Dolly says, "You, on the other hand, surprised me."

"Yes." Mildred says, "I suppose I surprised myself too."

"I think our moral compass' are a bit skewed from all of this." Dolly says, "I've been forced into the role of the wife and mother. You've been forced into your role as governess and you're unable to express your true desires. But _listen,_ the world beats you down? You beat it back. That's what I've learned."

Yes, Mildred agrees, she feels the same. But _Gwendolyn._ Gwendolyn is a warm heart, she's strength, and she would never condone what Edmund has done. Nor would she find this conversation engaging. In fact, she'd probably dislike it.

They don't _fit_ together, Mildred thinks. Like misshapen puzzle pieces. But how much Mildred wants her, regardless.

"You're on our side, right? I can tell." Dolly smiles around her cigar. She looks eerily like Edmund in this moment, as if they're becoming one. "I want to burn this manor to the ground."

Mildred says nothing, and looks out at the sky. How quickly it changes. The sun comes up in shades of pink and Mildred wonders when she stopped noticing how beautiful it was. Once she wrote poetry. Now she _lives_ it.

"What are you going to do?" Dolly asks, "Will you come with us?"

"I don't know." Mildred admits. She has the desire to be honest, to let go with Dolly, a half stranger, a passerby. "I don't know what I want. I don't know who I am, anymore. Everything changed so quickly when I met Gwendolyn and now I feel-"

Mildred shakes her head.

"Scared, right?" Dolly says. "It takes a while to figure out who you are, hidden underneath what you were taught. But there's nothing wrong with you, you know. You're just like us. All we want is a break."

Mildred nods.

"I suppose you're right." She says, feeling a chord of companionship with Dolly. She's a young woman with spirit, potential, and fire within her. Mildred just hopes she has a bright future ahead. "I'm just still not sure if what Edmund has planned is what will achieve it."

*

Gwendolyn wakes to an empty bed.

She turns over, her hand landing on the empty space Mildred had left behind. It's still just a little warm, and there are hints of her fresh, familiar smell still lingering in the room, clinging to every one of Mildred's possessions. Gwendolyn has awoken in her lovers' arms before. Mornings have brought her some of her most intimate moments. But somehow, _this_ is what leaves her breathless.

It's hardly anything. Just ghosts of Mildred in her bedchamber. But being under Mildred's sheets, with Mildred's air around her, is intoxicating.

Gwendolyn sighs. She's fallen so deep that even this casual intimacy is enough to destroy her.

"Good morning, Gwendolyn." A familiar voice resounds from behind the door. Mildred opens it, and slips inside, carrying a tray. She's still as well put together in the morning. It's as if she rolls out of bed ready to work. "Did you sleep well?"

Mildred sets the tray on the end of the bed. The smell of tea makes the room warmer and Gwendolyn sits up, rubbing her eyes. She wants nothing more than to curl beneath the covers with Mildred and forget the world, for at least a few more hours. But this isn't so bad either, she thinks. Mildred in the morning. With her. As if they're sleeping and rising together.

"I made tea." Mildred says, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. Gwendolyn longs to do it for her.

"Yes, I can see that." Gwendolyn chuckles. "Thank you, dear."

Mildred smiles and watches as Gwendolyn takes a cup in her hands and sips from it. It's as if she's seeking approval. How charming she is, Gwendolyn thinks.

"It's lovely, Mildred." Gwendolyn says. Mildred's pleased smile brightens her more than the sunrise. She's still half asleep, and has somehow forgotten the cruel demise that Lenore Osgood was submitted to, and the emotional conflicts that have plagued for her months. Here she feels at home. "You are so sweet, this morning. Perhaps _too_ sweet. Have you been up to mischief?"

"What do you mean?"

"Clearly you want something from me, or you're in dreadful trouble." Gwendolyn teases, "Why else would you be such an angel today? Or is just that your sharp tongue is softened in the mornings?"

Mildred smiles.

"You think so ill of me." She says.

"Oh, no, I happen to hold you in high regard." Gwendolyn chuckles. "Despite your character flaws."

Mildred's face changes, as if Gwendolyn has touched on something sensitive. A shadow passes over her features, and Gwendolyn pauses. Mildred's pain is also her own. She feels it sting in her chest, like the tip of a knife blade has been pressed against her skin.

"Is that true?" Mildred asks quietly.

"What do you mean, darling?"

"Could you still... keep company with me, even if I were the worst kind of person?"

Mildred's voice is steady. Her hands don't shake, and her eyes are cool and still. But Gwendolyn feels her emotions, regardless, hiding underneath her skin. Slowly, she's becoming more in tune with what Mildred thinks and feels.

"I doubt that's possible, Mildred. You are-"

"If your presumptions were wrong, and I were cruel and wicked." Mildred interrupts, sharply, "Would you still want me, then, Gwendolyn?"

The silence holds and lingers. Gwendolyn considers the governess. She takes in all of her, not just her physical form - though it is beautiful and captivating. There are so many sides of Mildred. Her hesitance, her kindness, her wit, and her _strength,_ above all. Gwendolyn doubts anything could stop her from wanting Mildred desperately.

"Yes, I would." Gwendolyn says, with certainty.

Rather than soothe her, this seems to agitate Mildred more. She takes in a breath, looking physically pained.

"You will run from me."

"I will not."

"You will _despise_ me, Gwendolyn-"

"I will not and could not." Gwendolyn frowns, "Where is this coming from? Surely you must know how I see you. There is no one in the world more perfect to me than you."

"Yes, I do know that." Mildred says, "That's exactly the problem."

Gwendolyn watches as Mildred steps forward, and lifts Gwendolyn's chin in her hand. Her fingers are cold and they're firm, as they grip Gwendolyn's chin, but Gwendolyn is still warmed from the touch. She's in awe of Mildred, and how miraculous she is. Even now she is both harsh and gentle, cautious and bold.

Gwendolyn doubts many people have seen _this_ Mildred, shining under the morning sun, completely unreal.

"You mustn't." Mildred murmurs.

"Hm?"

"You mustn't give me hope." Mildred says, "For it will always be taken away from me."

"What bothers you so, darling?" Gwendolyn asks. Her eyes flicker over Mildred's face, like she's searching for secrets there. "Why are you so cynical?"

Mildred takes another breath.

"I want so badly to believe you." Mildred says, softly. An honest admission. "But you cannot love me, Gwendolyn. It is impossible."

Gwendolyn blinks. Her breath hitches, and she looks at Mildred in surprise. She _knows?_ Does she know how much Gwendolyn longs for her, how much she aches to hold her close and to know her completely? When had she realised it, and how? What does _Mildred_ feel?

Mildred pales with realisation when she realises what she'd said. They stare at each other, because it's the very first time they've admitted that whatever is growing between them is far stronger than any friendship, any sisterhood, could be.

"I am completely under your spell, Mildred." Gwendolyn finally says, in a tone more confident than she feels, "I assure you, nothing could change my feelings for you."

"How can you say that?" Mildred says. "You don't even know me."

"Don't I?" Gwendolyn breathes, feeling unsteady, unrooted.

Mildred's eyes flicker over her face, searching for honesty, Gwendolyn thinks, trying to catch out a lie or loophole in Gwendolyn's expression. Her gaze finally lands on Gwendolyn's lips, and lingers, as if caught there. Gwendolyn's heartbeat has become erratic.

She had been so close to kissing Mildred, before Lenore had screamed. Mildred had- Mildred had leaned into Gwendolyn's palm, and closed her eyes, and it had been the loveliest moment. It had been the most wonderful thing Gwendolyn had ever experienced. And she'd been so close to throwing caution to the wind and just pressing their lips together. She'd imagined taking Mildred in her arms.

"We don't belong together." Mildred says, in a whisper. "I know there is some world, out there, where you and I fit better. It just isn't this one."

"I don't believe that."

"But it is true." Mildred says. "You should not be _here,_ Gwendolyn. The only reason I met you was because I am stubborn and I wanted to rebel. We are outcasts. There is no future for us."

Mildred pauses, softens. And her smile is bittersweet.

"But I am selfish." Mildred breathes. "I cannot live without you."

The sun has risen fully now, and it lingers on the edges of Mildred's hair. Like auroras, ethereal and gorgeous. Gwendolyn looks up at her and feels everything fade into this very moment, these few seconds between them. There is no Hanover manor. There are no guests.

There is only the two of them, on this tender morning. At once they're both so vulnerable and so guarded. Mildred leans closer to her, and Gwendolyn does not believe it. She can hardly accept that her dreams are becoming a reality.

"Mildred?" Gwendolyn whispers, more fragile than she's ever been.

Then Mildred's lips brush her own, and Gwendolyn's eyes finally flutter shut.

It's a cautious, chaste kiss. Mildred has never kissed before. Gwendolyn feels as if Mildred is a baby bird, attempting to fly, and it is so soft, yet Gwendolyn has never had a better kiss. Gwendolyn has had many lovers, so why is it that this - this tiny thing - unravels her? She feels completely undone, as Mildred kisses her gently.

Then Mildred tilts her head, and kisses deeper, and Gwendolyn burns with it. Mildred's cold, steady hands hold her face. The kiss is so _like_ her. It's full of opposing forces. The gentle brush of her hands and the insistence of her lips. The soft sigh she lets out is completely in contrast with how firm she is.

Gwendolyn doesn't wish to be kissed again, if it isn't by Mildred. In fact, she thinks she'd rather have this one kiss than anything else in the world.

She falls deeper, and deeper, and doesn't dare do anything except kiss back in fear she will awaken from this darling dream.

After several minutes it feels as if they will never be pulled apart. Gwendolyn will not complain. She will do nothing but sit here, a cup of tea in her lap, letting Mildred do whatever it is she wishes.

But their kiss is broken when the door bursts open.

Mildred steps away smoothly, and turns to face their intruder with an expression that is as calm as always. She leaves Gwendolyn melted into the bedsheets. She'll be imprinted onto Mildred's bedchamber, forever. Mildred's room will never be the same again. It will always have the ghost of them here, kissing.

"You must come quickly, you incompetent wretch, Elizabeth has-" Betsy pauses her ramblings, her face brightening when she meets Gwendolyn's eyes. "Miss Briggs, what are you doing here?"

Gwendolyn says nothing. She's shaken, frozen, still captured in Mildred's kiss.

"What has happened, Miss Bucket?" Mildred asks. She's as calm as the cool breeze.

"Elizabeth has gone _missing,_ and Doctor Hanover is going berserk. He thinks she's been-" Betsy grimaces. "Oh, God forgive me, I can't bear to say it."

Mildred's face pales.

"Surely not." She murmurs, "Forgive me, I must go."

She storms from the room, in a flutter of her dress, and Gwendolyn watches her leave feeling rather faint. Betsy raises an eyebrow and turns to Gwendolyn.

"You alright?" Betsy asks. "You're a little flushed."

"Yes, quite." Gwendolyn murmurs. She straightens her back, and attempts to wear her confident, easy persona, but she still burns with what has just occurred. Why had Mildred kissed her? And why had Gwendolyn melted into her, though she has vowed and vowed that she will never fall in love with Mildred, who is her _friend,_ her loyal companion. "Can you give me a moment, Betsy?"

"Of course." Betsy tips her maids hat. "I'll see you out there. The entire manor is searching for that silly little girl. No doubt she's stuck up a tree, like a naughty cat."

Betsy leaves Gwendolyn in silence, in Mildred's bedchamber. She runs a hand over her face, still trembling slightly. She is usually a bold and confident lover, but now her heart feels as if it's beyond her own control, spinning out and tumbling and falling. She's in Mildred's orbit.

Eventually, she stands and leaves the bedchamber.

Betsy was right. The entire manor is searching for Elizabeth, who seems to have disappeared without a trace. Even, Gwendolyn thinks, the _investigator_ is prowling the grounds for the young girl. He must've arrived in the early morning. She can tell he is the investigator by his long trench coat and oversized hat. She half expects him to pull out a magnifying glass, but thankfully, he does not.

As she wanders through the grounds, Gwendolyn cannot focus on Elizabeth. Though she is certainly worried, and hopes desperately that nothing has happened to the girl, her mind is full and racing. Mildred, Mildred, Mildred. She overshadows everything in Gwendolyn's mind.

So Gwendolyn is surprised when, through her lovestruck haze, she spots Elizabeth sitting happily underneath a tree.

She's humming to herself, and scribbling something in an old journal. Gwendolyn smiles and steps closer to her.

"Hello, Liza." She says warmly.

"Gwen!" Elizabeth exclaims, "Oh, I'm so happy to see you."

Gwendolyn chuckles and goes to sit beside her, on the damp grass, wet with morning dew.

"You have the entire manor in an uproar." She says, "Why are you so far out in the grounds, all on your own?"

"I needed somewhere peaceful to write." Elizabeth says, in a hushed voice, as if telling a secret. Her eyes sparkle with youth.

"What are you writing, darling?"

"A novel. I wish to be an author, you see, like the poets Miss Ratched reads. I decided it yesterday."

Gwendolyn remembers Mildred reading poetry, her voice silk and honey, and smiles.

"I see. What sort of novel are you writing?"

"It is about a dreadful crime." Elizabeth says solemnly.

"Does it just so happen to be influenced by recent events?"

"Yes! I happened to overhear Uncle Richard talking about the case. Poor Miss Osgood." Elizabeth says, "Would you like to read it?"

Elizabeth passes the journal, and Gwendolyn recognises the trust in the gesture. To hand over something you've written requires a certain amount of vulnerability.

The words themselves are messy and fresh with youth. But Gwendolyn finds the scribbled handwriting and strange plot charming.

"There is a heroine!" Gwendolyn says happily.

"Yes," Elizabeth says, smug and full of courage. "Of course there is."

"Of course." Gwendolyn chuckles, and rests a hand on Elizabeth's hand. "You are quite the writer."

Elizabeth looks up at her with the admiration and adoration one can only feel for someone older and more experienced then them. Gwendolyn finds herself hoping that her brightness never dies, that it isn't dimmed by the dark world around her.

"You must always keep this spirit, young lady. Do not let it be quenched by the world." Gwendolyn says. "Promise me that, Liza."

A leaf falls into Elizabeth's hair. She smiles brightly.

"I promise."

It is then that a voice rings out through the silence, shattering the peace the two have found her, underneath a tall tree.

"Elizabeth!" Mildred calls. She storms over to the tree, and lifts Elizabeth to her feet, brushing down the front of the child's dress. There's a look on her face that Gwendolyn has never seen before: _panic._ The concern in her face has contorted her expression into something dreadful and scared. "What are you doing all of the way out here, alone? Are you alright? Tell me at once that you are not hurt."

"I'm fine-" Elizabeth says, giggling in Mildred's tight grip. "I came to write! Would you like to read it?"

"Stupid, reckless girl. You must _never_ do that again." Mildred says, and - to the surprise of Elizabeth and Gwendolyn - she pulls Elizabeth to her chest in a tight hug. It must've been sheer emotion that motivated Mildred to do such a thing. First she has kissed Gwendolyn, and now she holds Elizabeth to her chest so tightly that Elizabeth whines that it hurts.

Mildred pulls away, her eyes blazing with rage but her hands still gripping onto Elizabeth's shoulders.

Gwendolyn realises something, then, under the shadow of a tree, as she watches Mildred be overcome with emotion. She's in love with Mildred, and likely always will be. It is hard to accept such a thing, to submit to the vulnerability of being in love. But she accepts it. Because Mildred is so- so- She is the only person Gwendolyn could ever want this much.

"It is not safe to wander the grounds alone, _especially_ right now. You must not leave mine or Miss Bucket's sights from now on, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Miss Ratched." Elizabeth giggles.

"Back to the manor. _Now!_ You must let your uncle know you are safe." Mildred says sternly, "Now, Elizabeth, go!"

Elizabeth shrugs and holds her journal tightly to her chest.

"Goodbye, Gwen." She bows to Gwendolyn.

"Goodbye, sweetheart." Gwendolyn says, "Remember what you promised me."

Elizabeth nods and then runs away, through the grass, across the grounds with a youthful jaunt. Mildred sighs, running a hand over her face. Now that they're alone together, Gwendolyn's heartbeat picks up again. She steps closer to the governess.

"What if she had not been found?" Mildred asks, "What if she had been hurt, or worse-"

The back of Gwendolyn's hand brushes Mildred's own.

"All is well. Liza is safe." Gwendolyn murmurs. "Do not dwell on could've beens."

The touch of Gwendolyn's fingers against Mildred's hand is soft, lingering, trembling slightly in the shadow of the tree. Mildred looks up at her, and slowly, her hand turns, so that Gwendolyn's fingers fall snugly into her palm.

"I'm afraid I have neglected the children, as of late." Mildred says, and gives Gwendolyn a small smile. "I have become an awful governess. I fear I've been distracted, in the past few weeks."

Gwendolyn smiles back, her heart jumping. Sunlight touches Mildred's cheeks, through the shadows, and her hand is cold but gentle against Gwendolyn's. For the first time, she allows herself to hope that her feelings are returned.

"Yes," Gwendolyn murmurs, "I, too, have been quite distracted."

Mildred's smile stays there, on her face, small and promising.

"Mildred-" Gwendolyn swallows. "Don't torture me any longer. Tell me, why did you kiss me?"

A rose blush turns Mildred's cheeks pink.

"Now is not the time." She says, "The manor is still wrecked by tragedy, and the children need me right now. I have forgotten them, though they're my charge."

"Never mind that. I am talking about _you._ " Gwendolyn says, stepping closer to Mildred, so that they are almost pressed together. "We have come so far from strangers. No longer do you turn away from my eyes. So please, Mildred, I must know: do you long for me, the way I long for you?"

She had not meant to ask such a thing. The question so direct and so _clear_ in its intentions, and now the words hover in the air like rays of sunlight. Mildred ducks her head, her hand still tucked into Gwendolyn's.

"I cannot have this conversation." Mildred says, "I refuse to answer you."

"Why, Mildred?"

"There is so much you do not know, and so much I have kept from you. And I cannot bear tell you the truth." Mildred shakes her head, and steps away. Gwendolyn's hand falls limply by her side. "I told you, earlier. We do not belong together."

"That is simply not true. In fact, I think we are made for one another."

"No." Mildred says, "That isn't possible. I'm sorry, Gwendolyn, but you will soon know why I'm running from you again. Once you do, won't look at me the same way."

Mildred sighs. She steps out of the shadow of the tree, and Gwendolyn watches her go.

"I must return to the manor, and check on the children." She says, and she refuses to meet Gwendolyn's eyes. "Before I leave, I will admit one thing to you. If I could, I would kiss you again, and again, forever."

Then she turns, and leaves.

Gwendolyn stands still, conflicted. Her heart pulls in separate directions. It seems as if they're in a cycle. Mildred gets too close, and then retreats. Then she comes back again, closer than before..

But the look in Mildred's eyes had been so... weary. _This_ goodbye had felt final. As she watches Mildred step through the grass, with her heart in her throat, Gwendolyn wonders if this will be the last time she ever sees Mildred. For some reason, it certainly feels like it.

*

Before Mildred can process the rest of the day, it is midnight.

Her hand hovers over Doctor Hanover's doorknob. She stares at the wooden door, her breath rising and falling unevenly. Inside is her future, whatever it may be. She does not know what awaits for her, on the other side, only that she will not emerge from this the same as she was before.

The corridor stretches on and on in the dark. There is no silence. She can hear conversations everywhere, as people contemplate recent events and try to come to terms with what has happened - and what might happen next. Mildred is not a fool. She knows the net will be closing in on Edmund, soon enough, especially with the arrival of the private inspector. The only question is whether Mildred will be caught under that net with him.

For a moment, Mildred closes her eyes and remembers the glorious months behind her. She had found a home in that music hall, in Gwendolyn's eyes, in secret roses and warm gazes. She had found friendship, and love, and peace - and she had found sides of herself she never really knew existed. All of these thoughts and memories lead to this morning, when she had kissed Gwendolyn because she had known she would never have the chance again.

Mildred savours it. In her mind she whispers a final goodbye, to the woman she adores. And then she opens her eyes and goes to turn the doorknob.

"Mildred?" A familiar voice calls. "What are you doing here?"

"Gwendolyn." Mildred says, refusing to look in her direction. Perhaps if she pretends the woman isn't there, she'll leave. "You must go."

"I was just out for a night time stroll." Gwendolyn says, ignoring her words. Mildred turns to her. Her arms are wrapped around her chest, over her cardigan, and she smiles slightly. "I couldn't sleep. It seems like fate, to find you here. It's as if you were manifested by my thoughts of you."

Mildred swallows her pain. Gwendolyn's lovely words fall over her like a sweet honey and eyes are still full of charm and expectation. Even now they glitter with hope and Mildred doesn't wish to deny her, but she has to.

"That is of no consequence to me." Mildred says, "Please, retire to your chambers."

"Why do you wish to see Doctor Hanover, at this late hour?"

"I simply need to speak to him." Mildred says, "In _private,_ if you don't mind."

Gwendolyn holds out her hands in surrender.

"I'll wait for you outside, then." Gwendolyn says, "We must talk about what you said this morning, out there in the garden."

"I do not wish to. Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"You do know I won't be leaving, don't you?" Gwendolyn smiles. She has always been this stubborn.

"You never do." Mildred sighs. "Well. I suppose you will understand the truth of me, once you are inside."

"Now I'm even more tempted to follow." Gwendolyn chuckles.

Mildred turns the doorknob. She knows it is hopeless to try and convince Gwendolyn to leave. Just as she expects, Gwendolyn slips into Hanover's office behind her. It is too late, Mildred thinks. She supposes this is a sort of irony. Now Gwendolyn will see the truth of her, and Mildred will have to see the look on her face.

Inside there is no light, until Mildred's lamp floods the office with light. In the shadows she sees two figures. One is struggling in the others grip, attempting to break free.

"There you are, Miss." Edmund drawls, "I thought you weren't coming, for a moment there."

Edmund has restrained Hanover easily. One of his hands hold Hanover to his chest and the other holds something sharp against Hanover's neck.

Mildred almost smiles when she realises it's the doctor's letter opener that Edmund is holding. That expensive, precious little thing is almost drawing blood from how forcefully Edmund is holding it against his skin. There's an irony in that which Mildred appreciates.

"I've got him right where you want him, haven't I?" Edmund asks. Mildred locks the door, and Gwendolyn tries to reach for her in the dark, asking a confused and fearful _what is going on,_ but Mildred ignores it. "Isn't it nice to see him like this, at _your_ mercy for once?"

Mildred steps closer to the two shadows.

Hanover's face drips with sweat. His eyes are wide and terrified and he mutters a _help me_ that just makes the letter opener cut deeper into his skin. Mildred feels a wave of power. Here is the man who has kept her miserable for years and years of her life. Who shows her off to his colleagues as if she's a prized possession, touches her as if she's property that can be fondled and owned - and then sends her to her dark and freezing cold room.

Mildred feels no pity as she watches him squirm.

"What is going on here?" Gwendolyn asks. "Why are you doing this to Doctor Hanover?"

"Do you want me to kill him slowly, or are you going to do it yourself?" Edmund asks, ignoring Gwendolyn. "I'm tempted, you know, to do it for you. I had to kill Lenore quickly, you see. She screams far too loudly."

Gwendolyn gasps, stepping backwards until she hits the door. Mildred hears her try to turn the knob, and how Gwendolyn makes a sound of desperation when it will not open.

"Mildred, the gardener- he is mad, he is a _murderer,_ we have to leave-" Gwendolyn says.

"Well? What will it be?" Edmund asks, his eyes never leaving Mildred.

"Give me a moment." Mildred says coldly.

She surveys the scene. She wanders around Hanover's desk, where the diagrams and plans for his horrifying procedure still lie discarded. She scowls at them, and steps closer to Hanover, until she's close enough she can hear each of his shallow breaths.

Mildred lifts his chin with a finger.

"Mildred, what are you doing?" Gwendolyn asks. She sounds more horrified than before. It's as if she's realising what's _really_ going on.

"You have taken everything from me." Mildred says, to Hanover, who represents all of the world's cruelties to her. "You have belittled me. You pay me a meagre wage. You touch me, and taunt me, and flaunt me in front of your guests. You make me feel as if I am powerless-"

Mildred smiles, wicked, and Hanover pales further.

"But I am not."

"Miss Ratched- Mildred-" Hanover begins, "You have been a loyal governess to me all of these years. You don't have to do this."

"But we do, don't you see?" Edmund says. "Mildred and I only have each other."

"Mildred, I don't understand-" Mildred hears Gwendolyn swallow. She is reminded of Gwendolyn swallowing in better circumstances, fluttering nervous moments, but it can't break through her age and vengeance. "Why are you doing this?"

"Be quiet, Miss, for your own sake." Edmund calls to Gwendolyn over his shoulder. "Or you'll end up like that Miss Osgood."

Mildred's jaw tightens at the threat, though she knows it's empty. She sends Edmund a sharp glance, and he laughs.

"Mildred, did you know what this man done?" Gwendolyn asks, sounding more horrified by the second. "Did you come here to- to _murder_ Doctor Hanover?"

"Here." Edmund presents the letter opener to her. Mildred takes it in her palm. It's blade is smudged red, from the light wound on Hanover's neck. "Do what you wish to him, Miss."

"No, please." Hanover says, in a sob. It is funny, Mildred thinks, to see the truth of him. Richard Hanover is just a child that is desperate to survive, beneath it all.

Mildred smiles and holds the blade against his neck. She has never felt more powerful. It's as if she's reclaiming every awful, conflicted feeling inside of her. No longer is she weak, or fearful, or submitted to the world. She is in control, at last. In this moment she is not herself. She _becomes_ the blade, the power, and not even Gwendolyn's pleas can pierce through the feeling.

"Help!" Gwendolyn yells. She sounds so unlike herself, Mildred thinks, so void of her confidence and bravery. "Help, please!"

Mildred drags the blade hard enough across Hanover's neck to deepen the light wound Edmund had started. His blood falls on her fingers, sliding down her skin.

Earlier, Mildred had touched Gwendolyn's face gently with these hands. In the garden Gwendolyn had touched these hands so sweetly. Tears prick behind Mildred's eyes and she turns her head, to look at Gwendolyn one last time, before she betrays her forever.

"Don't." Gwendolyn says to her, over the sound of Hanover begging. Her eyes plead with Mildred through the shadows. "Mildred, stop, what are you doing? _This isn't you_."

Mildred swallows tears. She wishes so dearly that she could be the person Gwendolyn has always saw her as. She longs for the life they could have together. But she should have never went to that music hall. Because Mildred is not like Gwendolyn. She is not kind, nor good. She is like Edmund.

"Come here." Gwendolyn says, "Do not do this, Mildred. Come to me, please."

"I'm sorry." Mildred says. "Oh, darling, I wish I could."

She turns back to Hanover and feels as if a part of herself has been ripped away. Mildred closes her eyes, and prepares for the final slice of the letter opener against his neck. She will have to be forceful to nick an artery. The blade is only small. Edmund is smiling at her.

"I knew you were like me." He says, darkness in his eyes. He's like the shadows themselves.

Mildred breathes in, and she breathes shadows, too. Even know, preparing for the final cut, she's uncertain Half of herself is Edmund, hovering over Hanover's crying body. The other is Gwendolyn, by the door, kept hopeful only by love. She must choose one.

"Stand away from the door." The investigator yells, into the office "We're coming in."

Gwendolyn steps away from the door.

"Mildred, it isn't too late. Just come to me. Come here." She says.

"Do it now." Edmund says. He doesn't seem to mind that he'll be caught. "Before they find us. I'll say I did it, Miss, I'll say I killed him, so please, just let yourself have this. Kill the bastard. _Take control._ "

Before Mildred can make her decision the door bursts open, splinters flying around the office. The floodlight of lamps fill the office and Mildred is yanked away from Hanover's body, so hard that he almost falls. Gwendolyn restrains her firmly, _harshly_ , and the letter opener slips from Mildred's hand and clatters onto the floor.

"What the hell have you done?" Gwendolyn hisses in her ear, her breath hot and angry.

"It's him, you fools, the gardener!" Hanover coughs, holding his throat with his hands. Blood stains his palms. "He killed Lenore, get him quickly!"

Shouts and murmurs can be heard as the inspector tackles Edmund to the ground, and pins his arms around his back. Through the chaos Mildred hears Dolly screaming _get off him, leave him alone_ as Edmund cackles, she sees Charlotte Wells throw a hand over her mouth in shock, and she feels Gwendolyn breathing heavily beneath her. Mildred feels Gwendolyn's chest rise and fall and knows there is fury and terror in each breath.

Everything happens so quickly. One moment the office is filled with noise and commotion and the next Edmund is being dragged out of the office and the crowd are following. In an instant Gwendolyn and Mildred are left in silence. It is deafening.

Never before has the air between them been without warm feelings, and the sweet beating of their hearts. Even in their worst moments Mildred has known how Gwendolyn's heart is drawn to her. But now, when Gwendolyn loosens her grip and stumbles away from her, Mildred sees no hint of those feelings on her face.

Gwendolyn looks at Mildred as if she's never seen her before. Mildred had expected this. But _god,_ it hurts anyway.

"You _knew._ " Gwendolyn says, her hand trembling as it points at Mildred.

Mildred nods. She says nothing, as Gwendolyn steps backwards again through the shadows. She's so pale, so scared. _Of me,_ Mildred realises.

"You knew what he did to that poor woman and instead of telling someone, anyone, even _me-_ you-" Gwendolyn shakes her head, "You comforted me after the whole thing and the entire time you _knew_ what he'd done."

Silence. Mildred hears two hears breaking.

"I trusted you, I- I _cared_ for you and you-" Gwendolyn trembles. Mildred wants to hold her, but the days of that are over. All she has now are memories of Gwendolyn's hands, and her lips, and her heart. "I don't even know who you are."

"I told you." Mildred says. She tries to be calm but her voice cracks. "I told you, Gwendolyn, that you could not love me. Here is the proof."

"What is wrong with you?" Gwendolyn asks.

"Richard Hanover and people like him have made my life a living nightmare." Mildred says, desperately wishing Gwendolyn would not look at her so cruelly. Even now, in the midst of reality, Mildred can't help but wish for a fantasy to come true. "I have been under the thumb of others since I was a child and I will not stand for it any longer. Truthfully, I wanted to leave this place with Edmund."

The horror does not slip from Gwendolyn's face. It only grows deeper.

"You wouldn't understand." Mildred says bitterly.

These words make a raw flash of pain pass across Gwendolyn's face.

"How dare you say that to me?" Gwendolyn asks, "I, who has never been able to be true to myself because of the opinions of my family, and society? I, who has been forced into a marriage and have to live my truth in secret? I, who has been beaten down and _punished_ because of who I am? _I_ don't understand?"

Gwendolyn shakes her head, and gestures to the office.

"I understand _perfectly_ what that feels like Mildred, to be forced to live for other people. We have always been the same! But I would _never_ resort to senseless cruelty just to- what? To prove a point?"

Gwendolyn scoffs. Her face is dark in the shadows but Mildred knows she is right. This is where they are different. Gwendolyn is glowing light, warm sun. And Mildred is the darkness in the office. Cold as a knife's blade.

So much haunts Mildred in these moments. She remembers every sweet and true and flirtatious memory with Gwendolyn, from the first moment they met. Gwendolyn changed her so much, taught her so much, and gave her more happiness than Mildred has ever felt before. Why hadn't that been enough? No love could soothe the rage in Mildred's heart.

And Edmund had fed it so well. He had taught her to steal, and now how to kill, and the promise of power and control had been more enticing than the vulnerability and fear that Gwendolyn's love brings with it.

It will always remain true that Gwendolyn and Mildred cannot have a life together. Mildred had proved it. There is no space for them in this world. There is no fantasy that could be real. Mildred is so glad she kissed Gwendolyn, just once, before their dream world came crashing down around them.

How sweet it had been, for just a little while. But Mildred is not allowed hope.

"You could have spoken to me, Mildred. I would've done anything for you." Gwendolyn says, "But you were right. You are cruel, and wicked, and I cannot love you."

Mildred heart snaps in two. She feels as if her ribs have been broken, and the shards are piercing her heart, and making her bleed. She had known it was true. But it feels like dying, for it to be confirmed. Some part of her had hoped Gwendolyn could look at the darkest parts of her and love her, despite them.

Gwendolyn turns and leaves. Mildred watches her step out of the office doorway and is left there, in the dark, the lamp on the floor the only source of light in a blackness that seems endless.

A tear slips down her cheek. Mildred does not wish to cry, but the pain overwhelms her. She has lost Edmund, who understood her. She has lost Gwendolyn, who loved her.

Worst of all, Mildred has lost herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me just say this first kiss wasn't planned. at all. 
> 
> it was supposed to happen a lot later, but everything happened naturally and it seemed to fit? because they're both so vulnerable from what happened with lenore, it seemed to be a perfect opportunity to find comfort and passion in each other before the rest of the plot happened. all i know is that mildred needed that kiss because in her mind it was the first and the last. and she wrote that scene, not me.
> 
> i really am sorry about how dark this has become, especially the end of the chapter, but do keep remembering the happy ending tag :) i feel like this chapter is one of the major turning points of the story. i tried really hard to allude to mildred's increasing internal conflict throughout the plot, first with her rebellious behaviour, then with edmund's theft, and finally with this scene as mildred tries to decide whether she will kill hanover or not. i tried to stay loyal to gwendolyn's character here. she does seem to have quite a strong moral compass throughout the show, at least in regards to death.
> 
> i have tried to create a mix of sweetness and angst and i hope it works well. there is still a lot of story left and i do hope you're excited for the rest . . . edmund's arc is over, but another is about to begin :) what do you think will happen now? with edmund out of the picture, what will dolly do? how will gwendolyn and mildred reconcile? how will mildred's character develop going forward? I'm really excited, too 
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoyed this chapter! it ended up being the longest yet (at almost 8k words...) and I wanted to thank you guys for being consistent readers and commenters. the ratched fandom is definitely my favourite now. i know everyone by their ao3 names and i appreciate you more than i can say!! ;-; even if i can't reply to all comments, i see you and i love you !!
> 
> it's my 20th birthday next tuesday (goodbye teenage years...) so if you're enjoying this story and wanna give me a birthday coffee, i now have a ko-fi page ! https://ko-fi.com/gazinggia


	18. aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My heart is wicked." Mildred says.
> 
> "A heart can't be wicked." Edward giggles even more. He crawls out from underneath the table and into her arms instead. "People do wicked things, but hearts don't. They just love."

Gwendolyn heals the only way she knows how to: _performance_.

Perhaps it's far too soon after the incident, but Gwendolyn ignores that. She pushes everything into her polished shoes and her tight men's trousers and the tip of her top hat. She tries to release the pain and the betrayal through dance, and her booming voice, and the way the women in the crowd swoon under her gaze. She has lived through worse before. She will perform, and bury Mildred in a dark and quiet place in her mind, where she can't feel her.

It works, somewhat. Gwendolyn forgets everything, under the lights, while she listens to the crowd's laughter. And she can feel Trevor's eyes on her. He had finally decided to come along to one of her shows and even just his gaze, and his warm, delighted smile, gives Gwendolyn strength. He is her best friend, and one of the only lights in her life - she lets herself lean on him, even on the stage, where she is the most bold and confident that she ever is.

Gwendolyn turns, her smile brightening the longer she performs. The music is a delight in her ears, pulsing and distracting. She can still taste cigar smoke on her tongue, and it's as if she's entered a new world, one where she is not followed by heartache.

But there is something keeping her from fully letting go of the horrors at Hanover Manor. It is Mildred Ratched, sitting with her hands on her lap in the crowd. She's as lovely as ever. She sits still with those haunting eyes, weary and sad around the edges, watching Gwendolyn perform. Gwendolyn cannot forget her. She is repulsed by Mildred, who was so cruel and harsh in that office with a blade at Hanover's throat, yet even now her heart is drawn to the governess.

She must ignore it. Gwendolyn throws herself further into her performance, until the cheers are as loud as the heartbeat in her ears. Tonight she throws her rose to Trevor and basks in his joy. It is enough, she thinks, refusing to meet Mildred's eyes.

Feeling a little brighter than she had earlier, Gwendolyn steps from the stage and feels a sense of accomplishment. Perhaps it had been disrespectful to Lenore, to disappear from the Manor and perform like this, but it has done her the world of good.

"You were incredible!" Trevor says, loudly in Gwendolyn's ears, when they're stepping backstage. He tugs on her sleeve, and he's filled with laughter. She hasn't heard it in his voice, since the incident, and so Gwendolyn's heart melts when she hears it. "Truly fantastic, Gwen!"

"Now, now." Gwendolyn chuckles, ducking into the dressing room with Trevor on her heels. "It is not like you to resort to flattery."

She falls into her chair, unlacing her shoes while Trevor looks curiously around the dressing room. Once her shoes are loose, Gwendolyn leans her head back against the head of her chair and lets out a long sigh, adrenaline slowly being replaced by weariness.

"You have improved a great deal." Trevor says, running a hand over the back of her chair. He's eyeing one of the male performers, and Gwendolyn raises an eyebrow. "England has been good for you."

"No, England is terrible." Gwendolyn says, "It is a cruel place."

"You don't mean that. Despite everything, you don't mean that." Trevor says. He turns his eyes to her, and they smile kindly. Familiar, sweet. So unlike Mildred's, that are dark and curious and follow Gwendolyn everywhere. "I saw your governess, there in the crowd."

"She is not _my_ governess." Gwendolyn says.

"You're right, I suppose." Trevor says, "Miss Ratched could not be owned by anyone. She may be more headstrong than even you. "

"We are not the same." Gwendolyn says darkly. She remembers the blood staining Mildred's fingers. She has not told Trevor of what happened, or anyone. She doesn't wish to repeat what she saw, what she had felt deep in her heart when she had thought Mildred was going to _kill_ Doctor Hanover. "We are quite different. And I have told you before, I would prefer it if we didn't speak of her."

"Oh, you are _boring_ when you're heartbroken. We must drink wine tonight, I think." Trevor says, "It will bring back your smile."

"Yes, it will." Huck's jovial voice interrupts. He's combing his hair, his shirt unbuttoned. "Gwen has always been impartial to a glass of wine."

"That's the spirit, Huck! Say, I miss dancing, don't you? I wish to dance the entire night long." Trevor says.

"You are insufferable, Trevor." Gwendolyn scolds, but feels a glow of warmth when Trevor pats her shoulder.

"Oh, you know the late Miss Osgood would agree with me. I'm sure she danced many a night, in her younger days." Huck says, and Trevor chuckles.

"Then it's settled!" Trevor announces. The dressing room is clearing of people, by now, so his voice booms around the empty spaces and ruffles the costumes. "We must leave at once, and have a pleasant evening with copious amounts of see wine and dancing. Come on, Gwendolyn. We will erase the memory of that pretty governess from your mind."

Trevor pauses, considering her with a glint in his eye.

"Keep the suit on." He decides, "I want to say the English people's faces when they see you sauntering down the streets in men's clothing."

"Don't be ridiculous." Gwendolyn chuckles, and waves a hand. "Wait for me outside, gentleman. And if I hear one more word tonight from either of you about _Mildred Ratched_ I'll eat my hat."

"Yes, captain." Huck chuckles, and the two men leave the dressing room.

Gwendolyn is left in the quiet room for a moment. The last of the performers trickle out with polite goodbyes and Gwendolyn lets out a breath, alone, and lost in thought. She supposes Trevor and Huck are dealing with the shock of recent events in their own way. Like Gwendolyn they're pushing the horror and misery to the back of their minds and pretending it never even happened at all.

Gwendolyn supposes this method comes with its benefits. But there is always that sinking, hopeless feeling inside of her, waiting to bubble up and consume her. Gwendolyn had lost some of her spirit, that night, when she had seen the truth of Mildred. She had lost hope and fantasy and the promise of new love in one evening. It had slipped away, between her fingers, like water rushing over her hands.

"Gwendolyn."

The familiar voice washes over her and Gwendolyn closes her eyes, for a moment, pained.

She turns her head sharply, and Mildred is hovering in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her. For the first time since Gwendolyn has known her, Mildred seems small and vulnerable. She seems to be at Gwendolyn's mercy. When Gwendolyn stands and looks back at Mildred with a hard glare Mildred does not falter, or whimper, but there is something so pliable about her, as if she would break in Gwendolyn's hands.

How ironic, Gwendolyn thinks, because it is not _Mildred_ who has been broken.

Gwendolyn stays silent and does not answer. Mildred must've been waiting outside of the dressing room until everyone left. What a smart girl she is, predicting Gwendolyn would stay behind and enjoy the peace. Gwendolyn feels a conflicting mixture of resentment and affection.

"Gwendolyn, speak to me." Mildred steps forward. Her expression crumples when Gwendolyn does not speak. Gwendolyn is in pain and she wants, more than anything, to pull Mildred into her arms, but this Mildred must be fake. She must be an act. Surely this could not be the same Mildred who had so coldly locked the door behind them in that dark, fateful office. "Speak to me, darling-"

"Do not touch me." Gwendolyn says, brushing away Mildred's outstretched hand.

"You must talk to me. You keep avoiding me at the manor, and I have to explain-" Gwendolyn shakes her head and Mildred swallows, steps towards her again. How beautiful and sweet she is, Gwendolyn thinks, and the thought has become bittersweet. Her heart is so warm but even despite this, Gwendolyn keeps her expression sharp and cool as the blade Mildred had pressed against Hanover's throat.

The silence is deafening. Mildred is in her usual dress, but her hair is not so tightly tied as usual. Strands hang around her face, as if she was too tired or distracted to knot them. Gwendolyn turns away from her, to the mirror.

"Listen to me, I would not have done it." Mildred says quietly. "Even if we were not interrupted, I assure you would not have taken Doctor Hanover's life."

In the mirror Gwendolyn searches Mildred's eyes for some truth, but finds none. It is another lie, Gwendolyn thinks bitterly. How transparent Mildred is now. As fickle and cold as footprints in the snow.

"I don't believe you." Gwendolyn says.

"I know I scared you, Gwendolyn, but I would not hurt _you_ -" Mildred takes a breath. Gwendolyn sees tears sparkling in Mildred's eyes but tries to ignore them, tries to make them part of Mildred's act. Like a beautiful painting, or a charming actress, Mildred is a persona.

"If you had not known me," Gwendolyn says. "It could have easily been me, instead of Richard Hanover, who was under that letter opener. Do not deny it, for I know it's true."

Mildred hangs her head.

"I cannot deny that. And I will confess to you, and only you, that I have always had a fury and resentment for those who control me. I have always wished to rid the world of those sorts of people." She admits. "But listen, my time with you- my feelings for you- those were not a lie. And I truly believe that you have changed me, so much, and I have changed you-"

"Yes." Gwendolyn says coldly, and turns back to meet Mildred's desperate gaze directly. "You have. You have hurt me one too many times, and I cannot take anymore of it. You have consumed and I wish only that you'll leave me alone, Miss Ratched."

"Gwendolyn-"

Gwendolyn can take no more of Mildred's soft, pleading face. She makes a noise of fury in her throat.

"Answer me this." Gwendolyn says. She steps forward and traps Mildred against the dressing room door, one hand beside her head on the wooden door to prevent the governess from escaping. "And if you ever cared for me, you will answer it _truthfully._ If we had not been interrupted, that night, would you have taken Doctor Hanover's life?"

The lie rises to Mildred's lips again. Gwendolyn watches it flicker there in Mildred's eyes and on her tongue, and her face hardens even further.

"Do not lie to me." Gwendolyn says, in a low voice, and Mildred blinks at her. Surprised, perhaps, that Gwendolyn can see through her. The silence stretches until finally-

"I don't know." Mildred whispers. The truth. Gwendolyn shakes her head and steps away.

"That is why I cannot forgive you. I saw his blood on your hands, Mildred." Gwendolyn runs a hand over her face. "If you had killed him, would it have healed everything he broke inside of you? Would it have fixed everything wrong with our society? All it would have done is made you a criminal, and a devil."

Mildred leans her head against the wall.

"You cannot understand me." She says, resigned.

Gwendolyn pauses. She supposes that's true. She cannot understand Mildred, and thus she will not and cannot- love her. It is a relief, really. She had been so terrified of her feelings for the governess that having a reason to ignore them and fight back against them is relieving. But even still, she can't help but remember every warm moment between them, and the way Mildred had kissed her-

"Do not come to this music hall again." Gwendolyn says, and walks away from Mildred.

Perhaps she is punishing Mildred too severely for a crime she didn't even commit. But Gwendolyn will not show mercy. She is tired of the world, and her own heart. The only option left is to turn away from it, and live lonely but protected.

*

"Edward?" Mildred's soft voice rings through the shadows. "What are you doing out of bed?"

The young boy is under the drawing room table. She had come across him, on a restless night time walk around the manor, and had kneeled down to look him in the eye. He is cowering there, his faced tucked into his knees. She watches him tremble and feels a tremor of warm sympathy. He should not be here, in tears. He should be sound asleep in bed, with only good dreams to guide him into the morning.

"I'm scared." He says.

Mildred holds out her hand, and watches warmly as he takes it in his own. _He_ is not scared of her. He would not scowl at her, would not recoil from her touch, the way Gwendolyn had the night before. He, at least, is a child who cannot see the worst in her, and who relies on her without any real concept of the reasons why he shouldn't.

"There is no reason to be scared." Mildred says, wrapping his small hand in between two of her own. She is saddened by how small his fingers are, how tiny he seems. Just a child, she thinks. "What are you so afraid of, hm?"

"The gardener." Edward says. "He hurt someone, didn't he?"

Mildred frowns. Edmund's arrest and upcoming execution is news around the manor, circulating every day in whispers and shocked murmurs without fail, but she had not wished for the children to catch wind of the rumours. Hanover had told the guests they could leave within a week, and Mildred was hoping this affair would be over soon. But here Edward is, cowering in fear at the shadow Edmund has left in the manor.

She wishes she could explain to him, that Edmund was not all bad. That he was strong, and funny, and that he understood Mildred the way no one else has been able to. Even with his sharpest and most horrifying edges Mildred cared for him. But no one can understand that, and certainly not a child.

"Yes, but he is gone now." Mildred says softly, "He will not hurt you."

"Liza said he almost hurt Uncle." Edward says. He looks up at Mildred with tear stained eyes. "Did he?"

Mildred swallows guilt. When she had felt so much power that night, with the letter opener so close to Hanover's skin, she hadn't thought about how it might impact the children. She had been thinking of nothing but herself, and her own power, and how good it might feel to have him lying at her feet.

"It was me." Mildred admits, against her better judgement. "It was I who almost hurt your uncle."

Edward blinks, and a small smile blooms on his face.

" _You?"_ He giggles. "Miss Ratched, of course it wasn't _you."_

"I'm afraid so." Mildred says, patting the back of his hands, "It is me you should be afraid of."

"Nonsense! You would never hurt me." Edward giggles more. His personality has always been so innocent, so joyful, so trusting. Mildred hopes his naïve kindness follows him into adulthood. "You are too nice for that. You are clever and good, Miss, you are not bad."

Mildred shakes her head. At least he is right about one thing: she would never hurt him. She couldn't dream of it.

"My heart is wicked." Mildred says.

"A heart can't be wicked." Edward giggles even more. He crawls out from underneath the table and into her arms instead. " _People_ do wicked things, but hearts don't. They just love."

"Oh, Edward, you must not lose your golden heart." Mildred says, pressing a hand to his head. "But you should not think well of me. I am the devil."

Edward considers this.

"If you did want to hurt Uncle Hanover, then you must've had a reason." Edward decides. He is quite convinced, the way children are when they decide on something. "You are very clever. It must've been _him_ who was bad, and you were only protecting us."

Mildred chuckles and holds him closer to her chest. She is not usually so soft with the children, but here in the shadows she can be comforted by him, she can let his childish spirit and joy heal some of the darkness inside of her.

"Can't people be good and bad, Miss Ratched?" Edward asks quietly.

"Oh, I do hope so." Mildred murmurs, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. "I really do."

What if she could be both? Dark and light. As kind as she is cruel. At least then there would be something about her that Gwendolyn could love.

Edward eventually falls asleep in her arms in the dark. Mildred carries him to his bed and tucks him in, before stepping out into the manor corridors once more. She knows she will not sleep, if she retires to her bedchamber, so she wanders the dark hallways again. She steps between the shadows and feels as if she is just a ghost.

A question echoes in her mind. _Who is Mildred Ratched?_

Is she the dark soul who had almost killed a man in cold blood? Is she the governess who taught her students with a combination of sternness and affection? Is she the woman Gwendolyn had almost loved, against all of the odds? Could she, perhaps, be all of these, and more?

There is another pressing question. If she had not been interrupted, would she have killed Doctor Hanover?

_Would it have been worth it?_

Mildred swallows. How difficult these questions are to answer. She feels disconnected from herself, as she always has, only recently this disconnect comes with a sense of longing to find who she really is. Could her heart be good, as Edward says, even if her behaviour had been cruel? Could she be more than one thing, could she be forgiven?

Distracted, Mildred passes Hanover's office and almost doesn't spot him sitting alone in the dark. But her eyes catch the glint of his reading glasses on the edge of his nose, and she stops. She considers him for a moment. If the universe had been different, if fate had not forced open that locked office door, he might've been dead at her hand. All that would be left is bloodstains on the carpet.

Mildred slowly opens the office door.

Hanover looks up at her, and she's surprised, when she steps closer, to see tear tracks on his cheeks. She has never seen him cry. She has never known an emotion on his face that wasn't arrogance or anger. She pities him, in this moment. Pity is a bitter yet warm thing, and it confuses her.

"Come to finish the job, Miss Ratched?" Hanover asks. He is fearful of her, Mildred can tell, despite his drawling tone. He's pale, and his breathing is quick.

She sits in the chair opposite him, and leans over the desk.

"Not quite." Mildred says. He flinches at the sound of her voice. Even in the dark Mildred can see the red line across his throat and the sight of it still comes with a keen pleasure, knowing she has inflicted the wound. "Tell me, Doctor Hanover, why have you not dismissed me, or reported me to the constable? You almost died at my hand, and yet you continue to let me raise your niece and nephew."

Hanover raises an eyebrow.

"You are a good governess." Hanover says, "I doubt I'd find a better one in the entire county."

"You would not be able to, if you were dead." Mildred points out. Hanover smirks. She is glad to see that he no longer leers at her the way he used to, nor does he look down on her. It is a small victory.

"Well, that is a risk I have to take. And truthfully, I'm exhausted. I have begun to think it would be better if I _were_ dead." Hanover sighs. He pulls off his glasses and leans back in his chair. "I loved her, you know."

"Hm?" Mildred asks. She's surprised to hear the words. She did not think he was capable of love, except from the obligatory affection he shows his niece and nephew.

"Lenore. I know I am a fool and a cheat, and I have always been improper with young ladies, but Lenore, she was-" Hanover swallows tears, and Mildred is confused by him. She has never seen this side of him, and it intrigues her, and nudges her curious spirit. "She was my first love. I was always in awe of her. She was clever, and witty, and yes, she could be cruel, but I truly did love her. Yet we only ever met in secret, and it was only... physical. I never had the chance to confess to her that I-"

Mildred watches emotions contort his features. How pitiful, she thinks, and yet she feels a twinge of sympathy too.

"She died in such a brutal way, Miss Ratched." Hanover says, " _God,_ I wish I had not argued with her so. I wish I had swallowed my pride, even if she would not swallow hers. I should have used her presence here as an excuse to confess my feelings, and now I must live in regret."

Mildred finds only sincerity in his face and it surprises her. How curious, she thinks. She is pleased to find him in pain, but at the same time her heart reaches out to him. That conflict, she thinks, between light and dark.

"Forgive me, sir, but why are you confessing this to me, of all people?"

Hanover waves a hand.

"Who else am I to speak to?" He chuckles bitterly. "My reputation has been ruined beyond repair. The surgery was a complete failure, one of my guests was murdered under my supervision, the newspapers are having a field day, and people are unsure whether to laugh at me or to scold me for my incompetence. I have never been so embarrassed, or grieved."

There's a silence, while Mildred takes in his words.

"I have no friends, none in the world, and the only woman who I could ever love died in this very house. My niece and nephew are estranged from me, through my own incompetence as an Uncle, and my servants despise me so much they wish to see my head on a platter." Hanover says. "I suppose fate has given me the punishment I have earned."

Mildred blinks. This... this is true. He has already been punished, ruined, hurt beyond belief - how could she take his life, and thus hurt his innocent niece and nephew, who already have lost their parents? She needn't have tried to ruin Hanover's life. He had done that all on his own.

Regret begins to tinge the edges of her heart. She sees Hanover differently, in this light. He is no longer the enemy. He is just a sad, pathetic man, with only riches to his name. And he is so alone in the world.

"I wish you had killed me." Hanover says, and covers his face with his hands.

Mildred reaches forward and gently prises his hands away from his face.

"You have humiliated me, continuously, for the entire time I have worked here. But the crime did not warrant the punishment." Mildred says gently, "Yes, you are formidable person, but you are hardly the only one. We live in a society of men like you. And fate has already dealt you what you deserve. I apologise, Doctor Hanover. I should not have tried to play God."

Hanover blinks at her.

"I intended to hurt you. I wished to end your life." Mildred says. She stands, her face steady and her eyes clear. She knows better, now, who she is. Who she is becoming. "But I am glad I didn't."

Richard Hanover is so small, she thinks. Sitting in his chair, his face contorted with grief and regret, his hair plastered to his forehead. He is suffering deeply, Mildred thinks, and he deserves it. But he does not deserve death, and neither do his niece and nephew deserve to grieve for another person, after everything they have suffered.

How selfish I was, Mildred thinks. She had only considered herself, in those moments when she had held the letter opener against Hanover's throat. Edmund's fury and resentment had matched her own, and stoked the fire within her. But if she had only listened to Gwendolyn, if she had relied on Gwendolyn's warm and gentle spirit instead, could she have come to this conclusion with her instead?

Gwendolyn has always fought against people like Hanover, but not like Edmund. She has fought through reclaiming her identity, and rejecting everything she has been taught. It does not take violence, Mildred realises, to rebel.

The realisation shakes her. It untangles everything she knows. Mildred has always been full of anger and longing with no way to express it, but now she knows there are other ways than cruelty, she is shocked to the bone. Edmund had been wrong. God, she loves him, but this was not the way to heal. It never had been.

"Forgive me, sir, but I must rest." Mildred bows clumsily. "Thank you, for allowing me to continue working at this manor. I assure you I will raise Edward and Elizabeth well. Good evening."

She leaves the office trembling. If only she could go back, and tell Edmund what she had begun to realise.

If only Mildred could have convinced him to deal with his anger in a better way. But they had enabled each other, like moths to a flame, and now he is to die for a crime Mildred almost committed, too.

*

Mildred's newfound sympathy for Doctor Hanover is shortlived, she later finds.

As she sits with Edward in her lap, watching Hanover pace the drawing room, she feels a sense of amusement that Gwendolyn used to share with her. Her lips twitch as she watches him talk quickly and frantically. She tries to meet Gwendolyn's eye across the room but Gwendolyn avoids her gaze completely. It is expected, but it aches, regardless.

"I cannot stress how apologetic I am that your visit turned out this way." Hanover tells the crowd. He keeps running his hand through his hair, a habit that makes Mildred even more amused. He is nervous, and rightfully so. The entire crowd of guests has their eyebrows raised. "You came to my home with the expectation that you would witness a miracle of medicine, and instead you have suffered grievously. Please, accept my deepest apologies.

There is a silence. If Lenore was here, she would've filled it with some callous remark, but only quiet drifts across the music hall.

"In your final days here I sincerely hope you can rest, and heal from what you have experienced. I do not expect forgiveness." Hanover pauses, "However, you must remember that I am a respected Doctor, and none of the events that occurred here were my fault-"

"That is arguable." Trevor murmurs, and a chuckle drifts amongst the crowd.

"In any case, you must rest assured that Edmund Tolleson is being dealt with." Hanover smiles, "In fact, he is to be hanged on the first day of next month."

Mildred's heart sinks. She knew this was coming, and yet it burns and aches inside of her. Edmund was her friend, despite all of it. She does not want him to die. She wants to laugh with him again. She wants to learn goodness with him.

There is a sudden murmur that still the entire room.

"What did you say?" Dolly asks quietly. Mildred's heart sinks further. Dolly's voice is louder and harsher when she asks again, _"What did you say?"_

"Only that the criminal who terrorised us is to be punished." Hanover says, "Whatever is the matter with you, dear?"

Dolly scoffs and stands, though her parents tug on her dress to try and pull her back down.

"Do not patronise me, _Doctor._ I am not your dear." She hisses. "Do you mean to say my Edmund is to _die_?"

"Well, of course." Hanover is growing more confused. A dread begins to pale his face. "What do you mean, _your_ Edmund?"

"He is to be hanged, for the crimes of people like you? He is to die because he did what most people of his class are too cowardly to even dream of?" Dolly's voice grows louder, and louder, and people begin to cower. She is, Mildred thinks smugly, terrifying. It is nice, to see her power, to watch her show her true self. It feels the way she imagines Edmund felt, watching her press the letter opener against Hanover's throat.

But despite this feeling, there is another, more prominent emotion. Mildred is _unsettled._ She sees the destructive glint in Dolly's eyes. She sees the pain, the grief, the _fury_ there, burning up. And Dolly, she thinks, will make the same mistakes Mildred almost had.

"Will you hang me, next, for loving Edmund? Will you take my life for the crime of not wanting to conform to what my parents wish for me? Will you burn me at the stake for wanting a life that isn't ruled by riches and fortune?" Dolly laughs. "If I could I would burn this manor with all of you inside of it. I hate this life you have forced me into. I hate being of a high status. Hang _me_ for that, too, along with my love."

Mildred watches as Dolly paces the room. The rest of the crowd are silent, and Edward has begun to tremble in her arms. Elizabeth watches with curiosity, but Mildred knows she is just as scared as her younger brother.

"Edmund was right. And I was supposed to go with him. I would've died for him, I would've _killed_ for him-" Dolly bares her teeth, and her hands have clenched into fists so tight her knuckles grow white.

"Dolly." Mildred says. She reaches out a hand to soothe the young woman, thinking she may be able to get through to her. "Dolly, listen to me, this is not the answer-"

But Dolly turns on her, with blazing eyes.

"And you! You were meant to protect him. You said you were on _our side._ Yeah, right." Dolly laughs again, "It's _your_ fault he's going to die. You weren't brave enough to finish what he started."

"This is not my fault." Mildred says steadily, though she doesn't believe it. "Edmund made his own mistakes. I am not responsible for his death. He is his own executioner. _Listen to me, Dolly_ , you don't have to be like him. You can find your own way-"

"I would've been there in that office, if he'd let me. But he wanted _you_ to be there instead _._ Mildred, he said, she understands me, she could do it. She could kill Doctor Hanover. Yet here he is, still breathing." Dolly says. "While Edmund is to die _alone_. _Y_ ou should be there at the execution with him. But instead, you took the man I loved from me-"

Dolly smiles suddenly. Her eyes glint, bright as her hair, sunlight on her cheeks. Mildred fills with dread when she realises what that smile means.

"So I will take the woman you love from you." She says. "It's collateral damage, Mildred."

Dolly yanks Gwendolyn to her feet and tugs her against her chest. The room is in an uproar, but Mildred's eyes focus only on Gwendolyn as she is restrained. For a moment Mildred looks into Gwendolyn's surprised, terrified face and is awed by how much she feels for her. She is so panicked, so concerned, even just by seeing Gwendolyn distressed.

That, Mildred thinks, is a feeling that could never be cruel. Even if all of her was dark, her feelings for Gwendolyn would be a light, a sweet truth, the truest thing inside of her. Mildred knows in this moment that Edward was right. She can be both good and bad. And nothing, _nothing_ about Gwendolyn is bad.

"She is just like the rest of them, don't you see? Gwendolyn Briggs is rich, and privileged, and she cares only for her fiancé, if you can even call him that." Dolly says. Her eyes are wild and cruel. There is no sense in them, but Mildred understands her completely. "Yet you _adore_ her. How hypocritical. She should die just like the rest of them."

Mildred is horrified when she sees the glint of a blade under the sunlight in the drawing room. Dolly has pulled a butcher's knife from the kitchen out of her dress and holds it against Gwendolyn's throat, the same way Mildred had held the letter opener against Hanover's.

In this moment, Mildred is faced with herself. She sees all of the cruelty and anger Gwendolyn must've seen on her face, in that office. And she is sympathetic, because Dolly is so like her.

She just wants to be free.

But so does Gwendolyn, Mildred knows. Gwendolyn is as trapped and pained as the rest of them. But Gwendolyn would never do anything like this. She is the innocent party. She never deserved any of this pain.

Faced with the prospect of Gwendolyn's death, the colour drains from Mildred's face. There is a terror unlike anything she's ever felt, and she wonders if this is what the sick feel, when they are on the verge of death - when they are aware that there life is about to die, any moment now. Gwendolyn's death would be her death.

Oh, Mildred thinks, her face contorted with horror.

_I love her._

Everything happens in an instant. Dolly makes a motion to slice Gwendolyn's throat open with the knife. Before she can make a deep wound, Charlotte Wells pushes her from beside her and the knife falls to the carpet, and is picked up by Charles Wainwright, who eyes it warily. Mildred throws herself to the carpet, where Gwendolyn has fallen too, and takes the woman that she loves in her arms.

"Gwendolyn." Mildred says, frantic, her heart still pounding as if Gwendolyn is still in danger. "Gwendolyn, are you alright? Are you hurt? Darling, if you had- oh-"

Mildred clutches Gwendolyn closer, and Gwendolyn, perhaps in a daze or in shock, does not try and escape her grasp. Mildred closes her eyes and breathes her in. She feels Gwendolyn breathe unsteadily against her and is comforted by the fact Gwendolyn is alive, and breathing, and safe. She is safe, in Mildred's arms.

Mildred knows who she is, in this moment. She knows she was born to protect, and to fight against the forces that threaten her, but not the way Edmund has. She must fight like Gwendolyn, with quiet strength.

If this is the consequence of cruelty than Mildred must not be cruel. Gwendolyn had almost died, and it was not solely Mildred's fault but she had certainly contributed to this moment.

"I'm fine." Gwendolyn says, still in her arms. Mildred breathes out a sigh of relief and clutches her closer still, oblivious to the eyes watching her.

Meanwhile, Dolly is screaming. She's being restrained by several of the guests and even still she shouts, and cries. It is a sound of anguish that pierces Mildred to the very core of her being. Even know she feels Dolly is just like her. They should have been friends. They should have worked together.

"I am so sorry." Mildred says. Her tears are making Gwendolyn's dress and hair damp but she cannot stop them, cannot force them back inside. "I was so wrong, I was so-"

Here, in her worst moments, Mildred thinks of how beautiful and warm and light her time with Gwendolyn had been. Yes, they had hurt each other, they had clashed and misunderstood one another, but Gwendolyn had been the sole light of Mildred's life. She had cared for her. And Mildred had almost thrown it away, for revenge.

She chooses Gwendolyn. From this day forward, Mildred thinks, she chooses Gwendolyn. She will not lose her. She will become someone worthy of her.

"I'm sorry." Mildred says again, pulling Gwendolyn closer than she should, close enough that her arms ache with the pressure of it, and that Gwendolyn hisses _Mildred, you're hurting me_. It is good to know they can both hurt. It is good to know they are still alive. "I will never let you go again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know everything i've written so far has been necessary to developing mildred and gwen's characters but i just wish i could go back and give all of these characters a happy ending... the end outweighs the means but it's still so tragic


	19. her library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I suppose you are right." Gwendolyn says, lifting her tea cup as if in a toast. "When did you get so wise, Mary?"
> 
> "When I stopped listening to my fear." Mary says, and gives her a pointed look.
> 
> It is hard, Gwendolyn thinks, to be seen and to be known. She is tired of being transparent, lately, but there's a comfort in it all the same.

When Mildred was only a child, her best friend died.

It was winter, Mildred remembers, and with it came those long cold months that brought the threat of disease and discomfort. Snow was piling on the roof of the orphanage and, when piles of it grew too tall, Mildred would wake to see snow falling in great chunks from the dormitory roof. Those days were long and the thin clothes the orphanage provided for them just weren't enough. Mildred herself recalls being dreadfully ill one winter, and even now remembering those feverish nightmares makes her wary of the winter season.

It was close to Christmas when Mildred's best friend fell ill. Jane, her name was. She used to crawl into bed beside Mildred when the nights were dark and fearsome - and this display of weakness was endearing, because in daylight Jane was loud and brazen and spirited, and got into trouble more days than she didn't. Her vulnerability when the sun set was a secret, kept only for moon was in the sky. Mildred was happy to comfort her, then, on those cold nights.

One evening Mildred noticed Jane's breathing was shallower, rising in uneven and unsteady breaths. That morning it was difficult to wake her, and their matron placed one hand against her forehead and found it so hot she gasped and called for a doctor. Mildred was not scared at the time - after all, _she_ had survived the illness, so Jane, who was so much brighter than her, obviously would as well. But it had been more serious than Mildred anticipated. By the time the snow cleared, Jane had passed.

There has been a lot of suffering through the course of her life but this, Mildred thinks, was almost certainly the beginning. She cannot remember her parents leaving her at the orphanage, and so no anguish comes with thinking of it. But she can remember the death of her friend. And ever since, getting close to someone _always_ came with the threat of losing them.

And it had, of course, happened. First it had been Edmund, who's execution will be held so soon, and who will never know how much he meant to Mildred. Then Gwendolyn had almost perished under Dolly's blade, and it had only been Charlotte Wells' bravery that had saved her. Then Dolly, who Mildred had hoped to get closer to, had been dragged out of the manor by her family, who almost certainly will place her into a psychiatric hospital.

Mildred had always been wary of people. Perhaps these last few months have been proof she was _right_ to avoid them.

But no, Mildred thinks, Gwendolyn had brought her a joy so warm it pervades any pain that came with it.

Outside of the manor it is freezing but Mildred wraps her arms tighter around herself and bears it, for out here in the shadows is the only place to avoid Hanover's guests. She looks up at the stars and recalls the despair she has went through thus far. The cycle will continue in the future, she thinks. How much more will she have to lose?

Mildred had vowed to protect Gwendolyn, with her arms around her on the drawing room floor. She had said to herself that she would be a better person. And if being close to Mildred will make Gwendolyn suffer, then Mildred should let her go, shouldn't she?

A selfish voice within says _no._ No _,_ because she does not want Gwendolyn to go.

Mildred enjoys seeing the other woman every morning, every evening, at breakfasts and dinners. She loves her performances, her smile, her eyes that sparkle with a light Mildred wishes to replicate - to keep, so that when her nights are dark she can shine it into the blackness and illuminate it. She has come too far from her former self to let Gwendolyn slip from between her fingers.

There's no other life than one that has Gwendolyn in it.

"Miss Ratched?" Huck's voice rings through the darkness. Mildred smells cigar smoke and whiskey before he comes to stand beside her. "What are you doing out here, all alone in the dark?"

Mildred raises an eyebrow in his direction, but she does not frown or send him away with a gesture of her hand. She has moved past the persona of the cold governess that had once served her so well.

"Now, Huck." She says, "I presume you haven't come to speak to me just for idle talk."

"What would give you that impression?" Huck asks, with a sly little smile. She has always liked the man, not least because he's a friend of Gwendolyn and he always seemed rather sweet. He would be good for Betsy, Mildred thinks.

"Well, I am the talk of the manor right now." Mildred says, "You have come to pry, haven't you?"

"I would never." Huck chuckles, "And the guests in there are not _only_ talking about you. They flit between Tollenson's execution, the heroic actions of Miss Wells that night in the drawing room and of course, the scene you pulled with Gwen on that very same night..."

A rose blush touches Mildred's cheeks in the dark. She had certainly been unlike herself, with her arms tight around Gwendolyn. She had been anguished, visibly so. Never before had she displayed so much emotion on her face.

"I was acting out of concern for my friend." Mildred says lightly.

"Yes, of course. It was very touching." Huck says. "And yet you seem to be on terrible terms, right now. I have not seen Gwendolyn so pale and miserable before. Whatever have you done to her?"

Mildred lets out a huff of a laugh and holds out her hand for Huck's cigar. He gives her it, easily, as if she were a man like him, and it is a satisfying feeling, to hold it between her fingers and smoke it. She has not tasted tobacco in so long. It passes through her, warm and bitter and heavy.

"I _knew_ you were here to pry information from me."

"Oh, no, I'm here acting out of concern for my friend." Huck says, and Mildred can't help but laugh, at that. She takes another breath of the cigar and passes it back to Huck.

"You talk as if _we_ are friends." Mildred says.

"I thought that we were, by now, not mere acquaintances. Any friend of Gwen's is a friend of mine."

"Ah." Mildred frowns, "Well, you ought to be disappointed. If you must know, I've driven her away. I'm afraid I forfeited our friendship."

"Oh, of course not." Huck says sincerely, "Gwen worshipped you. I never met anyone who adored someone more."

Mildred says nothing, though the words pierce her. It is a stark reminder of what she could've had, in another world.

"No more." Mildred finally murmurs.

"Now, what happened?" Huck's directness is surprising, but refreshing. It is not often that people in this society speak what they really are thinking - ask what they really _wish_ to ask. Mildred finds it doesn't prickle her with irritation the way she should. "You will feel better if you tell someone about it."

"I don't think so-"

"Come now." Huck says, passing the cigar back to her. Mildred can't help but smile. "You must. In any case, the guests are all leaving in just a few days. You never have to see me again, if you don't wish to, so there is no risk."

The silence stretches, like the light of the stars. Mildred takes a deep breath. _Would_ it be better to share her feelings, just once? Wouldn't it be improper? Then again, perhaps if Mildred had been more open and honest with Gwendolyn, they wouldn't be in this position now.

"If you must know," Mildred says quietly, "I am in love with her."

Huck pauses and looks at her for a moment.

"Oh, dear. You see- You see, I-" Mildred swallows, "Huck, several months ago I did not think it possible for women to love other women, yet here I am. Bewitched."

Bewitched, Mildred thinks, is a fitting word. For all of her seems under a sort of spell, bound to Gwendolyn's will, twisted under a powerful magick she simply cannot resist.

"I have to admit, I was surprised when I realised it." Huck says, "I knew Gwendolyn felt that way about _you,_ of course, but up until recently I thought you indifferent."

"Indifferent?" Mildred asks, surprised. She had always thought herself rather obvious in her feelings.

"You do not show your feelings on your face, often." Huck says, "But in the... incident with Dolly, I finally saw it."

"Yes, as did the rest of the guests." Mildred says, "Though thankfully, my behaviour has been described as the _hysteria_ of a weak minded governess _._ I'd rather they think me mad than know the truth."

"Well, you still have not answered my question. Gwendolyn would not have rejected your advances, so why does she avoid you now?"

Mildred pauses.

"I have hurt her, through my dishonesty." She admits. "In truth I wish to make amends, but I'm at a loss as to what I could do."

"There is a simple conclusion." Huck says, "Just confess to her your true feelings. Gwendolyn mentioned that you love poetry, don't you? Surely it would be easy for you to construct a speech that could move her heart towards forgiveness."

"Oh, I do not think that would work."

"There is nothing love cannot heal." Huck says.

Mildred hums, thoughtful.

"What about you?" Mildred asks, "Are _you_ in love? You seem awfully taken with Betsy. I have seen you at breakfast, glancing at the door, waiting for her to walk inside..."

"Why, I-" Huck flushes. Mildred sees it even in the darkness and finds herself fond of him. "Yes, I do think I- love her. But I cannot bring myself to confess it. We have spoken often, but she is so taken with Doctor Hanover."

"That is troublesome." Mildred agrees, "But perhaps you should show her you're the more agreeable alternative?"

"However could I do that?" Huck chuckles, but a spark of an idea flashes across Mildred's face. She has never been one to say no to a good scheme.

"Well," Mildred says, "I'm glad you asked..."

*

"Gwen!" Mary's sweet, excited voice carries over pavement, "There you are."

She throws her arms around Gwendolyn's neck briefly, her cheek pressing against Gwendolyn's own, before she pulls apart with eyes as warm as the last time Gwendolyn saw her. Gwendolyn feels a pang of guilt, for rejecting the woman. Mary has always been so sweet. If only Gwendolyn could fall in love with _her,_ instead of Mildred, her trip to England might have turned out differently.

"The very same." Gwendolyn chuckles. "You're looking well."

"Don't I always?" Mary asks, holding out her arm for Gwendolyn to take. Mildred would never do such a thing - she has always withheld physical affection. Until recently, that is... "I must say, I was delighted when I received your letter. Come. I wish to give you your last tour of the city, before you leave me again."

"Do not take my departure so personally. I have spent far longer than I have expected, here." Gwendolyn says. "We were prepared to stay in England a little longer, but there have been complications at Hanover manor, and now we are to leave in just a few days. I convinced Trevor of it."

It had not been easy. _He_ had been convinced that Mildred was right for her, and she had fought against him until he caved under her persuasions.

"A hasty retreat." Mary giggles. Gwendolyn glances at her. Her blonde hair curls sweetly around her cheek, but Gwendolyn feels nothing, nothing except an affection towards her old friend and lover. "Was it truly so terrible there? Tell me at once. I have read the newspapers but I _must_ hear it all from you. You know how I love gossip."

"Indeed, you do." Gwendolyn shakes her head, amused. "I don't wish to retell the stories you already know. I will say, however, that I'm quite sure Hanover manor is cursed. It has brought nothing but tragedy and grief."

"For even you?" Mary asks, "What of the woman you spoke of in your letter, who you wished to court?"

The city in front of them is lit by sunlight. Sunkissed, each building has its lighter parts and its shadows, its warmer and colder colours. Gwendolyn looks out into this city she once adored and finds it dull and grey. She is not one to dwell on sadness, but this trip has pushed her beyond sunlight.

"I told you, that manor brought only tragedy." Gwendolyn says, "There was no exception for me."

They step between streets, the hems of their dresses brushing the paved ground. Mary purses her lipstick stained lips.

"So _that_ is why you wished to meet with me today." She says, "You were lonely."

"Do I need a reason to walk with an old friend?" Gwendolyn asks. She feels rather vulnerable and seen, when Mary glances at her. It's as if she sees right through her, to her bones. Lately Gwendolyn has felt so small.

She had felt it when Mildred kissed her. She had felt it when Dolly had held that cold, sharp blade against her neck. She had felt it when Mildred had held her, in the drawing room. A peculiar and unfamiliar sense of weakness had overcome her, and Gwendolyn _despises_ it. She wants to regain control, but she's slipping. Even Mary sees through her so easily.

"Oh, no, but it becomes more troublesome when you are aware that old friend is quite in love with you, Gwen." Mary sniffs. Gwendolyn feels another pang of guilt. "No matter, I knew you couldn't be mine anyway. And you were always going to return to America, despite your love affair with England. Your life is there, after all."

"Yes, Trevor's mother wishes us to marry immediately upon our return." Gwendolyn sighs, "Which of course will be a _delightful_ affair. Goodness, she still disapproves of me. I can just imagine her scowl as we talk down the aisle together."

"Don't be bitter, Gwen. You made the decision to marry him."

"I had no other choice. I have explained that to you before. " Gwendolyn says. Again weakness pervades her, and makes her feel as if she is fading right into the sunkissed pavement. "You know Trevor's life was ruined when they caught wind of his affair with Gerald. I am an aristocrat, and at home I have a well constructed image. My friend needed me, and so I am glad to keep his reputation secure."

"Yes, at the cost of your happiness and his." Mary sighs, "Tell me, why must we live like this? Both of you will have to commit your affairs in secret, and what if you find a woman you love, or Trevor finds a man he loves? Not to mention, his family will expect you to bear a child eventually, and how will you perform when you are to take care of the house and raise a baby? You will have to give up everything for him."

"Mary, it is the only option, for women like us. We must conform for our tastes of freedom." Gwendolyn says, "No matter. England has always been fun for the fantasies I can live here, but this trip has been a sharp plunge into reality."

Gwendolyn swallows. At some point in their stroll they had reached the river, on the far side of the city, and her own pale face stares back at her in the shimmering water.

"I do not want to pursue women any more." Gwendolyn says, "It is too difficult."

"Well, I've never known you to be a skeptic, or a prude." Mary laughs, "You must've known it wasn't going to last and that you would return home when you started pursuing her anyway. Why did you?"

"It was just meant to be a little fun. She was fun to tease, and to flirt with, and I chased her for a while." Gwendolyn pauses, "Then we became friends, and I-"

"Ah." Mary smiles. There is no trace of bitterness on her face. The hurt that Gwendolyn had expected to be there is hardly present, and Gwendolyn feels a jolt of joy. If Mary can get over her, perhaps she can be happy. Goodness knows she deserves it. And Vic has always been enamoured with her - those two would be perfect together. "You love her, don't you?"

"I wish it were not true." Gwendolyn says. She turns to Mary with a smile. "Listen, darling, you know I love to walk, but right now I'd just love a cup of tea, and to sit down for a while. Is your father home? I wish to go back to that charming little house of yours, if you don't mind."

"Yes, of course. He is out on business, at the moment, so we will have the place to ourselves." Mary smiles back.

"Oh, I'm glad. He never did like me."

"You are a terrible influence." Mary agrees, "He does like Vic, though. He says she's what every young woman should be. If only he knew..."

"How _is_ Vic?" Gwendolyn asks, as they walk away from the river, towards Mary's home.

"Oh, she's well. She's still publishing her little poems, under a man's name, and she still lives with her mother and father too." Mary smiles fondly. Yes, Gwendolyn thinks, they'd be a good pair. "And she disapproves of my dressmaking. She thinks it's a waste of time."

"I'm sure she doesn't mean it. Then again, authors are notoriously disapproving of any other profession." Gwendolyn chuckles.

"I have found performers to be much more open minded." Mary says.

"That is because we fit into other roles quite easily." Gwendolyn says, "A writer puts a piece of themselves into everything they write, while a performer is much more flexible."

"Flexible, indeed." Mary giggles.

They talk easily until they reach their destination. Mary's family house is nothing extravagant. It's a charming home, that gives the allure of being more expensive and prestigious than it actually is. With the combination of her father's income as a businessman and Mary's lesser income as a dressmaker, they have enough money and reputation to fit into the society here.

Gwendolyn knows Mary has never worried about this, however. Gwendolyn recognised her as a woman like her as soon as they met. Mary goes to the music hall, and the theatre, and the tea rooms with the air and posture of an aristocrat. She's incredibly sociable and her coyness is more of an act, than anything. She lives easily without fear, and Gwendolyn has always secretly admired her.

"Tea for our guest, please, Nancy dear." Mary tells her maid, as they pull of their coats. She has had many affairs with this same maid, Gwendolyn thinks, right under her father's nose. It's amusing, the way she's managed to keep her preferences from him for so long. "Goodness, I'm tired. We're getting old, Gwen."

"We shall be spinsters, before long." Gwendolyn agrees, and they share an amused glance before stepping into Mary's small tea room.

It's delightful here. The windows are tall and full, so that when the sun is out it falls in rays over every inch of the room. Gwendolyn remembers coming here for the first time, kissing Mary by the windows. She had felt the sun shining warmly on the side of her cheek, then.

They sit together. Nancy brings their tea, and the silence is comfortable as they sip from it and look out into Mary's garden.

"Have you been planting flowers?" Gwendolyn asks, thinking of Mildred roses when she spots a bed of roses.

"No, that was my father. He has become interested in gardening, lately."

"A relaxing hobby, I suppose."

"Yes, indeed. _You_ will have a lot of time for gardening when you are married and your only work is looking after your home..."

"Now, now, Mary." Gwendolyn says. "I won't lose myself just because I'm married."

"I doubt that." Mary sighs. She sets down her teacup, and her eyes are steadier than usual. "You know, the first time I saw you perform I thought, this is someone who could change things. This is someone who could burn the world down. I didn't know that beneath your act you were scared, too. I always thought you would one day leave Trevor, and live a true and full life."

Gwendolyn does not answer, though hurt blooms in her chest. It is hard, being faced with her own cowardice. So much of her has been constructed, a well painted facade, but Mary sees beneath her, just as Mildred had. How vulnerable I am, Gwendolyn thinks, and her flutters to the spot on her neck where she had almost been cut open.

"But _do_ take trips to England, when you can." Mary says, lightening the air with her easy smile, "When you need a break from matrimony, I'm sure there will be young ladies lining up for you to have your way with them."

Gwendolyn chuckles weakly. In truth she can't imagine anyone, after Mildred. They look at each other under the sun, and Mary's smile becomes sad.

"I will miss you." Mary says.

"Do not go sentimental on me." Gwendolyn says, sipping her tea.

"At least _write_ to me this time." Mary says. Her hand slips across the tablecloth and lands on Gwendolyn's free hand. Her touch is warm, soothing. Gwendolyn is pained by it. "I will send you a dress if you give me your address."

"You are far too kind to me, Mary."

"Nonsense. And if you will not write, I shall have to rely on my memories of you." Mary's smile grows sly. "Though it has been a while, since you kissed me... Won't you give me just one, that I can dream of until you return?"

Gwendolyn lets out a surprised chuckle.

"Behave."

"Oh, but darling." Mary stands and goes to Gwendolyn's side. She has always smelled like perfume, and hints of materials from her work. She is familiar, and so Gwendolyn does not resist it when Mary's hands land on her shoulders. Familiarity is a comfort, today. "How on earth shall I survive, without your delightful performances, every Saturday?"

"Well, you must." Gwendolyn murmurs. She is still when Mary brushes her hair away from her shoulders. Mary leans down and presses a kiss against the back of her neck, and the press of her lips is warm and familiar, too. Gwendolyn leans back into her. "Mary, darling, our time together has passed. Why do you continue to hurt yourself, like this? You know I do not love you."

"Yes, I know." Mary says. Her kisses move up, behind Gwendolyn's ear, and Gwendolyn shivers. "But I cannot bear to think of you alone, in a house, with only Trevor for company. Listen, Gwen, my father will not return for a few nights more. Stay here, with me. I will take care of you."

She turns Gwendolyn's face with her hand to kiss her. Gwendolyn allows it and though it is sweet, even soothing, it is not what Gwendolyn wants. She has been kissed by Mildred, _Mildred,_ and even the _memory_ of it is more powerful than Mary's kiss could ever be. It is a harrowing discovery, because what if she can kiss no other woman again? What if she is doomed to loneliness forever?

"I'm sorry." Gwendolyn turns her face to the window, and Mary's hand falls from her cheek. "I cannot."

"...Ah. No matter." Mary smiles and returns to her chair. She sits and crosses her legs, picking up her tea cup as if nothing had happened. She has always been dignified, Gwendolyn thinks, even in rejection. "It was a long shot, anyway."

"You must move on from me." Gwendolyn says, "I have told you, before, there are better women for you. And you _know_ Vic would do anything for you."

"Vic?" Mary laughs, surprised. "I do not know why you continue to insist on that. We are merely friends. I have never even thought of her, like that."

Ridiculous, Gwendolyn thinks. For anyone who saw them would know how they felt.

"Then you have not read her poetry." Gwendolyn says.

"Why, of course I haven't." Mary says, "Poetry is not a field I've ever been interested in."

"Oh, but you must read hers, at least. It's quite something." Gwendolyn smiles, secretly. She hopes that when she leaves, the two of them find each other. "Read it. If there is one thing you do in my absence, read it."

Mary raises an eyebrow.

"Well, alright then." She says, "But I do not expect much."

"You are so clever." Gwendolyn chuckles, "And yet you are so clueless, about things like this. Why you chose _me_ to have an affair with all of those years ago, I'll never understand."

"Yes, it was quite unwise." Mary giggles, "But I have found a dear friend in you, so I do not regret it. There is good in everything, Gwendolyn, if you look close enough."

Gwendolyn pauses. The words touch her, suddenly. Yes, she thinks, even though she is grieved and in pain there had been an exquisite joy with Mildred she had never felt before. A perpetual amusement - she'd always wanted to laugh. A feeling of giddy infatuation that had made her smile, late at night.

"I suppose you are right." Gwendolyn says, lifting her tea cup as if in a toast. "When did you get so wise, Mary?"

"When I stopped listening to my fear." Mary says, and gives her a pointed look.

It is hard, Gwendolyn thinks, to be seen and to be known. She is tired of being transparent, lately, but there's a comfort in it all the same. She will be sad to leave Mary.

In truth, she is sad to leave England. Mary knows it. And Gwendolyn knows it too, despite the way she frowns out at the garden, as if she won't.

*

"I cannot do it, Mildred." Huck says, a few nights after their first discussion.

His hands are trembling as he holds a rose between his palms. He looks rather sweet, standing in the shadows with his face dark red, his eyes shining with fear. Mildred raises her eyebrows in amusement.

"Oh, come on, Huck." Mildred says, "You're only giving her a rose."

Mildred had come up with the idea immediately. After all, she has only ever read romance novels and poetry - she has never been courted, and so she isn't really aware of what is romantic enough to melt a woman's heart. But she does know that the one thing that always made her glow with delight was the roses Gwendolyn threw to her every performance.

"Yes, but-" Huck sighs, "I'm always a nervous wreck around her."

"That can be charming, under the right circumstances." Mildred says, "It might endear her. After all, you're half the blundering fool that Doctor Hanover is, and she's somehow fond of him."

Huck laughs. He keeps shifting from foot to foot.

"And you're sure she's in there?" He asks, gesturing to the kitchen door.

"Oh, yes. Betsy loves to play cards with Louise in the kitchen, on an evening. She'll be there." Mildred says.

"Won't you wait for me outside?"

"I have a... prior engagement." Mildred's heart flutters with nerves. "Gwendolyn has asked me to meet her, in my- in the library."

" _Your_ library." Huck chuckles. "Yes, she did say you love it there. Hopefully she has only good news for you."

"I doubt it very much." Mildred sighs. "But I am determined to tell her how I feel, no matter the consequences."

Yes, Mildred had decided it, as far back as when she held Gwendolyn in the drawing room. She would not hold back any longer, she would not torture herself. She will, somehow, confess to Gwendolyn the truth of her heart that has been mesmerising her since they met. It is her first step to becoming a better person, an _honest_ person.

"Good luck." Huck says. He swallows and turns to the door.

"And to you." Mildred murmurs, and turns away from him.

Her heart pounds as she steps through the manor corridors. Here the world had turned upside down. Here the limits of her own morality had been tested, here she had lost and loved. Here Mildred had faced the worst parts of herself. As she walks its halls while the wind blows outside of the windows she feels fear and adrenaline in equal measure. It's a familiar combination, by now.

Mildred finds herself smoothing down her dress, and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. By the time she reaches the library her heart is in a frenzy. She imagines roses blooming inside, vines and thorns wrapped around every bookshelf, each page with a petal at its center. How much Gwendolyn has consumed her.

Her life has taken the shape of a rose.

Mildred swallows and pushes open the door. The library is dark but she follows the rays of moonlight until she reaches the armchairs she frequents so often. Gwendolyn is in it, of course. Mildred had expected it. She doesn't know how she knew Gwendolyn would be sitting there, her face unreadable in the dark, but she had known she would be.

It is surprisingly intimate, to see Gwendolyn there. There's a book open in her lap. She sits amongst the shelves that Mildred has combed for years. Mildred had found herself here, in every book page. And here Gwendolyn sits, at the very heart of her.

"Gwendolyn." Mildred says. She has no other words, no other vocabulary. Of all of the books in the room there is only one word written in them. _Gwendolyn._

"Good evening, Miss Ratched." Gwendolyn says coolly, looking at her under the moonlight. Mildred feels seen, and caught under that gaze. Standing in front of the armchair, she feels as if she's standing for trial in front of a judge.

"Thank you, for writing to me." Mildred begins. Her hands tremble so she folds them in front of her. "I did not think you'd wish to see me-"

"I do not." Gwendolyn says, "I feel I have some obligation to you, though, to say goodbye."

Mildred blinks.

"...Goodbye?"

"I am returning to the states." Gwendolyn says easily. It's as if it doesn't pain her. But Mildred sees hurt, around her eyes, when she looks properly at Gwendolyn's face. How fragile she seems lately. Mildred only wishes to take care of her.

"When?" Mildred asks, in a small voice. _Fool,_ she thinks. She had somehow forgotten that England wasn't Gwendolyn's home, and that she must return eventually.

"The ship is to leave for America in several days." Gwendolyn says.

_This_ hurts, deeply, like the knife she had pressed against Hanover's throat must have. Mildred swallows.

"So soon?"

"Yes." Gwendolyn says, and there is no emotion in her voice. Mildred misses how her smiles used to light up her face. Now she is as smooth as parchment and pale as the moon, without any feeling at all.

"But I-" Mildred steps closer to her.

"You what?" Gwendolyn asks. "You do not want me to go? Spare me your apologies, or whatever lies you have concocted. I do not wish to hear them."

Silence like the quiet before thunder covers the library.

"You will marry Trevor." Mildred realises.

"Yes, I will."

Mildred closes her eyes, and takes a breath. She can feel Gwendolyn's eyes on her, tracking her every move. All she wishes is to go back to the very first moment they met. The first performance, or the first conversation, or the first time Gwendolyn made her laugh...

"You will not forgive me." Mildred whispers.

Gwendolyn is silent, at that. There are books in this library that could encompass Mildred's feelings for her, Mildred thinks, there are poems that would put it into simple and beautiful words. But Mildred has none. Just the feeling, stark and painful.

"Just tell me this." Mildred says. She steps forward, again, close enough to see the shadows underneath Gwendolyn's eyes. "Why must you leave?"

"...I saw Mary today. We walked together, and we drank tea, and at the end of the day she tried to kiss me." Gwendolyn says. A hint of emotion cracks her voice. "I say tried, because I could not bear a touch from anyone but you. You have ruined me, and I am tired of it. You haunt me, and will for the rest of my days, so yes, I cannot forgive you, Mildred. I must leave England at once."

Mildred feels a mixture of pain and joy. How bittersweet, to hear such beautiful words, and yet be so wounded by them.

"No. No, no, this is not what I wanted, Gwendolyn, don't you see?" Mildred steps closer to her again, "I only wanted to be happy with you, all of this time-"

"I gave you the chance." Gwendolyn says angrily, her calm façade slipping just a little more. Mildred advances again and this time Gwendolyn jumps from the chair and stands away. To create distance between them, Mildred realises.

"With Doctor Hanover I-" Mildred steps towards her. Gwendolyn steps back, against a bookshelf, and now she is trapped. Now she must listen to Mildred. When Gwendolyn realises it, she's startled, vulnerable. "I made a mistake, Gwendolyn. I will not make it again. I promise you, you don't have to leave, we can start over-"

"Do not say such things to me." Gwendolyn says, her eyes as dark as the night sky, "I cannot take any more of this."

Mildred looks at her, truly looks at her, lets her eyes take in nothing but Gwendolyn. She is surprised at what she finds, in Gwendolyn's tired face. Her eyes do not meet Mildred's own. She trembles when Mildred places a hand above her shoulder, on the bookshelf.

"What are you afraid of?" Mildred murmurs. Silence, and then Gwendolyn speaks.

"I have always been afraid of you." Gwendolyn says. It is a confession unlike any she has made so far. "And what you make me feel."

That is it, Mildred thinks, _that_ is why Gwendolyn is leaving. Perhaps Mildred's secrets had driven Gwendolyn away, but then, she thinks Gwendolyn might always have been afraid of this. Of loving her. Even if Gwendolyn has not forgiven her, it is not like her to _run._ She has always been a fighter. But now she cowers, under the threat of intimacy.

"You are running away." Mildred says. "This isn't like you."

"How can you say that, as if you know so much about me? You don't know me." Gwendolyn says, "And I certainly don't know you."

"We both know that's not true." Mildred says. "Don't leave now, Gwendolyn. That is the easy way out. There is still so much left for us to do, and say-."

Gwendolyn shakes her head. Mildred lifts her chin, so that Gwendolyn finally meets her gaze.

"Look at me, Gwendolyn, and tell me the truth." Mildred says, "Why are you really leaving?"

Gwendolyn looks into her eyes, and Mildred feels everything still and fall silent. She thinks the moment could be something historical, a few seconds that could be written in a book and kept sacred forever. Mildred takes a breath.

"You still wear the pendant I gave you." Mildred says, "I see it, right there on your neck, always. Goodness, it drives me mad. So tell me, what is the true reason you are leaving? Surely my behaviour with Doctor Hanover hasn't scared you so much that-"

Her words are interrupted when Gwendolyn kisses her. She comes so quickly, first at an arm's length and then suddenly in Mildred's arms. Her kiss desperate and insistent. It's sad, Mildred thinks, it's a kiss that says goodbye. Hopelessly bittersweet. Warm and yet sharp, almost painful against Mildred's lips.

But it may be the last time they are so close, so Mildred kisses back with just as much fervour. Her chest rises and falls quickly and a glow of heat takes control of her. It reduces her to a thing that only knows Gwendolyn.

Just as quickly Gwendolyn is gone, and Mildred arms are empty. Gwendolyn trembles as she shakes her head. She stumbles away, tripping over her own feet, a shadow of the confident performer Mildred once knew.

"Goodbye, Mildred." Gwendolyn says quickly, her cheeks flushed and her breaths coming out too quickly, too harshly. She turns to leave.

"Gwendolyn-" Mildred tries to stop her with a hand on her wrist, but Gwendolyn pulls away from her and leaves all in a rush.

Mildred is left to stand amongst the bookshelves. Desperation overcomes her as she stands in the same spot, as if Gwendolyn is suddenly going to change her mind and return. She is warm still from Gwendolyn's kiss and the feeling lasts on, and on, on and on.

Under the moonlight Mildred eventually realises she is alone, completely and utterly alone, in a library that no longer belongs to her. It is Gwendolyn's library, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! i hope you enjoyed this update :) it was fun to explore some of mildred and gwendolyn's backstories, and there'll definitely be more of that in future! i liked exploring mary and vic more too. 
> 
> will mildred be able to convince gwendolyn to forgive her? stay tuned for next chapter, you won't want to miss it...


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